An Angel Among Us
by ObsessedFangirl221B
Summary: Working with Sherlock Holmes can sometimes be unbearable. But 25 year old Lindsey Conrad can't ignore the feelings she's developed for the mysterious detective. When something terrible happens to Sherlock, Lindsey will stop at nothing to help him endure the chilling aftermath and finally find some peace in body and mind. Contains mild language and aftermath of torture. Sherlock/OC
1. Welcome to New Scotland Yard

**Hello everyone! I've been reading fanfiction on this site for several years and enjoy it immensely. I've also been writing fanfiction for a while too, but been too afraid to post. This is my first attempt at posting. I've been absolutely obsessed with BBC Sherlock and been writing this fanfic for many months now. I have quite a bit of writing already finished and would be happy to post if people are interested. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review!**

**Disclaimer:_ Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

"Beg pardon but could you tell me where I might find Mr. Anderson?"

"Mr. Anderson's office is located on the fourth floor. As soon as you exit the lift, turn right and his office should be the second door on your left."

"Thank you, sir."

With that, twenty-five year old Lindsey Conrad took a deep, shuddering breath before making the slow, painful trek towards the lifts inside New Scotland Yard. She had to constantly remind herself that it was the first day and completely understandable to feel nervous. And yet, in every direction she glanced, Lindsey seemed to find yet another confident police detective or forensics expert in smart business attire. The latter was already taken care of for her – Lindsey was currently wearing a pair of freshly ironed black trousers, a button-down white dress shirt, and a black suit jacket and her long dark brown hair was held together in a ponytail with a clip. However, the former requirement did not exist in her case and Lindsey took that as a frightening disadvantage. In that moment, it didn't matter that she had_ Oxford University_ education plastered on her resume or that she was one of the top students in the graduate forensics department. This was the London Metropolitan Police, for goodness sakes. How on earth did she end up here?

Lindsey's overwhelming and frightening thoughts were so encompassing that it took her a moment to realize that she'd already reached the fourth floor. It almost felt like she was proceeding in slow motion from the lift in the direction that the security guard had told her, almost as if she possessed a Time Turner straight out of the _Harry Potter_ books. Once she reached the entrance, with the glaring letters of _Homicide Investigation Division_ crossing her vision, Lindsey came to an abrupt halt. Her legs couldn't function with the task of movement any longer, so taking another step forward would not have been a wise decision.

Would she be able to get through this without messing everything up? Would she be able to complete every task asked of her? Would she be able to perform the tasks with skill and accuracy? She had experienced this exact same series of emotions back when she entered the Forensics department of study at Oxford, a combination of nerves and excitement that nearly every student around her endured. But then again, she supposed that was the reason why this particular time was more daunting. At Oxford, everyone was experiencing identical responses to the stress at the same time, whereas, here, she was completely inundated with the faces of calm, cool, and collected men and women of expertise. What could she be next to them, besides a lowly intern?

"Miss Conrad?"

A deep, kind voice interrupted Lindsey's thoughts just as she passed the entrance to the department. She was greeted by a slim-faced man with straight dark locks and a cheery face. He immediately extended a hand towards Lindsey and she took it gingerly with one of her beautiful smiles.

"Mr. Anderson?"

"Yes, indeed. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Conrad. And please call me Philip. Welcome to New Scotland Yard, Homicide Investigation Division."

"Thank you sir," Lindsey replied, her nerves slowly dissolving the more she conversed with this friendly man. "I'm very excited to be here."

"And we're very excited to have you here. I'm sure you're a bit nervous but that's completely understandable as it's your first day," Philip continued on with a smile. "But don't worry. You are very qualified for the job."

Lindsey pondered the amount of truth that existed in that simple statement as she obediently followed Philip from the entrance into the very heart of the Homicide Investigation Division. It was, for the most part, what she would have expected of a typical office – every inch of the floor space covered by various, cramped cubicles containing an employee as well as a desk, chair, desktop computer and a number of decorations that attempted to distinguish one cubicle from another. As she passed by these people, Lindsey was greeted by nothing but warm smiles, and her heart swelled just a little bit at the knowledge that she was in a friendly environment. Despite the grimness of the division title, these seemed to be pleasant people to work with during this summer internship and possibly after she completed her degree.

"So this is the main office area," Philip explained, and Lindsey had to physically shake her head to release herself from her previous thoughts. "A lot of the work takes place here, besides, of course, at the crime scenes. Ah yes."

Philip paused in front of a particular cubicle, which housed a friendly looking woman with dark brown curls and dark skin. As soon as they approached her desk, she looked up from her paperwork and immediately smiled broadly towards Philip. Lindsey watched as Philip returned the smile directly, and her curious eyes watched the quick exchange between them without a blink of the eye. The exchange was so quick and surreptitious that one would have missed it in the blink of an eye. At the same time, however, it didn't take long for the woman to notice that Philip was not alone, and her focus shifted towards Lindsey. Fortunately, that same smile did not falter.

"Hello there, I'm Sally Donovan. You must be Miss Conrad," the woman greeted Lindsey by extending her hand. "Philip's new intern from Oxford."

"Yes, ma'am," Lindsey replied with an equally warm smile and firm handshake. "I'm terribly excited to be here to work on thrilling cases with all of you."

"Wonderful!" Sally exclaimed with intense enthusiasm. "We hope that you enjoy your time here and are able to learn a lot from the experience. Trust me, you are in the best of hands. Philip is one of the most talented in forensics at the Yard and is a brilliant instructor."

"Well, I don't know if that last part is true," Philip interjected quite modestly, a small blush creeping into his cheeks at her compliment. "Honestly, Sally, she is my first intern, after all."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Sally huffed, as if brushing off the idea as absolutely preposterous. "I'm confident that both of you will prove yourselves quite worthy and valuable to us."

With that final compliment, a thoroughly embarrassed Philip continued to lead Lindsey towards the back of the main office area until they reached the door of an individual office. Taken slightly aback, Lindsey could hear raised, angry voices from the opposite side of the door. Right beside the door, there was a placard that read _Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade._

"Oh my," Lindsey started, her now dormant nervousness and anxiety threatening to take hold of her again. "Am I to meet the Detective Inspector?"

"Why of course you are, Miss Conrad," Philip answered, as if she was somehow supposed to be aware of this knowledge already. "You are part of the office now, so the Detective Inspector should be able to associate your name with a face. He's well aware of your credentials and achievements. It was, essentially, his final decision on who should be offered the internship position."

Lindsey was well aware of the fact that Philip was saying all of this to try to make her feel better, but it actually had the opposite effect on her. With the new knowledge that the Detective Inspector had played a role in her selection, Lindsey suddenly felt as if there was an incredible weight bearing down upon her unprepared shoulders. Sure, she'd already proven herself to be quite knowledgeable in her field, but an incredible amount of responsibility now rested with her. A career in forensics had been her dream job for nearly five years now, and living the dream in this very moment was incredibly overwhelming. Now she had to live up to the expectations of her bosses, her parents, and, most important of all, herself.

Philip cautiously knocked on the door to the DI's office, fully aware of the argument taking place within. It was then that Lindsey noticed that Philip's once calm and cheery face seemed to dramatically change in front of her eyes. It was replaced by a mask of irritability and frustration, and for a moment she was terrified to think that she might have been the cause for it. But when she couldn't possibly think of anything that she did to cause such a drastic alteration, Lindsey assumed that the source of it must have stemmed from the ear-piercing yelling. Despite the fact that Philip had knocked on the door, the DI must not have been able to hear it over all of the yelling going on. With an overly dramatic sigh, Philip decided to grant them access anyway.

Lindsey's sensitive ears were immediately greeted by a heated argument that was theatrically enhanced without the previous door barrier. She was slightly taken aback by the level of increased volume, but more so by the overwhelming presence that seemed to consume the entire room. Lindsey assumed that the grey-haired man behind the desk was Detective Inspector Lestrade, who was now holding a suspended pen in his hand and desperately trying to get a word in edgewise.

The man preventing him from doing so was a very tall, slim man Lindsey somehow recognized from an unknown source. He was dressed in a smart black suit jacket and matching black trousers, but what was most peculiar about his wardrobe was the purple button-down shirt that appeared to be so tight around his chest that the buttons were about ready to burst. Over all of this was a long black coat and blue striped scarf, both items of clothing that further supported Lindsey's belief that she'd seen this man before. But what truly entranced Lindsey was this man's peculiar face. It was not like most faces in that it was overly long and lean, further enhanced by the incredibly high cheekbones. And yet, his dark and messy curls seemed to frame his face perfectly and his intense and mystifying blue-green eyes captured all of her focus and attention. All in all, Lindsey didn't think she'd ever seen a more handsome man than the one standing right in front of her. And for some reason, she had a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she'd had seen him before.

"Sherlock, I'm telling you for the last time, there's no way that Elaine Parker was murdered."

"And I'm telling _you_ for the last time that you are wrong!" the curly-haired man interjected in a deep, baritone voice. As if it wasn't enough that his eyes were so entrancing, but now that deep, silky, and lovely voice inadvertently caused Lindsey's heart to flutter inside her chest. Her heartbeat was drumming so rapidly out of control that she was fearful that Philip, who was still standing right beside her, would actually be able to hear it and realize the source for it. Then again, even if he did hear it, he might attribute it to nerves over meeting the DI or anxiety over the raucous uproar. But anyone who knew Lindsey properly knew that such a reaction only meant one thing…

But as soon as Lindsey heard the name _Sherlock_, she immediately realized why the man seemed so familiar. And yet, at the same time, her mind didn't seem capable of registering this new and overwhelming piece of information. The man standing before her was, in fact, Sherlock Holmes, modern London's most famous private detective. He was also the man who had appeared to jump to his death from the rooftop of St. Bartholomew's hospital, after having been proven a fraud by the press. Three years later, the late Sherlock Holmes had been miraculously resurrected, and the whole of London marveled at how he could have possibly faked his own death. Smiling to herself, Lindsey recalled how she'd been a devout follower of Sherlock's story, especially after Dr. John Watson's blog went viral. For as long as she could remember, Lindsey had always wanted to develop a career in crime investigation, but Sherlock Holmes only intensified that passion. The prospect of being able to watch him work firsthand was a thrill to no end.

"God help me," the DI moaned, running a hand over his face in frustration. "Where's the good doctor when I need him."

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically at these words. "Apparently, John has better things to do these days besides help me with cases."

"John is married now, Sherlock," the Detective Inspector reprimanded him harshly. "You have to accept that he has other priorities now."

Sherlock Holmes, despite being thirty-five years old, reminded Lindsey of an adorable and stubborn five year old boy at that moment in time. One rebellious curl happened to fall on his forehead between his eyebrows, perfectly matching the pout and the flare of his nostrils on his handsome face. With a final huff, Sherlock turned around and was about to exit the office when he finally noticed that he and Lestrade had company.

"Ah, hello Philip," Sherlock greeted, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Always a pleasure to see you."

"Oh will you bugger off," Philip replied with a stare that could kill. "I have a lot of important things to deal with today, and I don't need your narcissistic comments."

"Narcissistic doesn't explain half of it," the DI commented, earning a sly grin on Philip's face and a scowl on Sherlock's. "What? It's true!"

"As I've told John on multiple occasions, I can't just turn it on and off like a tap," Sherlock protested.

"See that's the thing, normal people _can_," Philip said.

Lindsey simply stood there in that office, her eyes drawn to the floor as she uncomfortably shifted her weight from one foot to another. It was so strange and peculiar to observe exactly how drastically her new boss changed in the presence of the famous, yet peculiar character that was Sherlock Holmes. From the various articles she'd read about him, Lindsey was vaguely aware that Sherlock was a bit "narcissistic" as Lestrade and Philip were so keen on calling him. Probably the best public example of this was when he was arrested for contempt, showing off his intelligence while serving as an expert witness in the trial of _Crown versus Moriarty. _At the time, Lindsey had simply laughed it off, and perhaps showed it to a couple of her friends at university. But now, she didn't really know what to make of all these comments about Sherlock's arrogance.

"My God, I am so rude," the DI suddenly said, interrupting Sherlock and Philip's ongoing argument that Lindsey must have been able to block out with her thoughts. "Is this Miss Conrad?"

It took a moment for Philip to remember why he was in the DI's office in the first place. "Ah yes, of course. Forgive me, Miss Conrad. Greg, this is Lindsey Conrad, my new intern."

Lindsey immediately accepted the DI's offered hand and shook it firmly. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Detective Inspector."

"Oh no," the DI replied, smiling warmly and waving his hand as if to brush off the compliment. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Conrad, and please call me Greg. The entire office has heard so much about you and your accomplishments. Congratulations on being accepted into the Forensics Department at Oxford. It is very prestigious."

"Thank you, sir," Lindsey said, returning the smile at the same time that her uproarious nerves began to calm down a bit from the warmness of the greeting. "I can't wait to get started."

"I'm sure you are," Greg said, chuckling a little bit. "Well, no need to worry there, we've already got a new case on today that we need to investigate as soon as possible. You'll be able to come with us to the crime scene."

"Oh how exciting!" Lindsey exclaimed with enthusiasm. She knew that her face had lightened up considerably at these words, for her entire face suddenly became flushed with excitement.

Greg laughed even harder at this. "I think we have someone to rival Sherlock when it comes to being excited about crime scenes."

At this, Lindsey inadvertently turned towards Sherlock to see if any reaction came from this. To her genuine surprise, Sherlock was staring directly at her, his intense blue-green eyes observing every single detail about her. Lindsey was somewhat aware of this strange quirk of Sherlock's – that he possessed the ability to look at a person and be able to deduce their entire life story. At least, that was what Dr. Watson's blog had described it as. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was what Sherlock was doing at this precise moment. At the mention of his own name, however, Sherlock physically shook his head as if to escape his deduction mode and smiled adorably at Greg's comment. And yet, even with this momentary lapse of concentration, Sherlock's eyes never strayed from Lindsey's face. It took Lindsey a moment to realize that her heartbeat had dramatically increased in speed and her breaths were coming out short. Sherlock's eyes were so beautiful and intense that Lindsey wouldn't have been surprised if she found herself hopelessly lost in them.

It was only when Sherlock extended his hand in her direction was Lindsey able to find her composure once again. She met his large, firm hand halfway, but her returned handshake was weak and pitiful in comparison. It was almost as if she could no longer communicate instructions from her hazy brain to the rest of her body. Instead, Lindsey was a limp doll, her legs turning into jelly and threatening to collapse underneath her. There was barely enough time for Lindsey to register the fact that Sherlock's long fingers seemed to extend past the handshake and pressed gently upon her wrist. Lindsey looked directly into Sherlock's eyes, her brows furrowed slightly in confusion while her stomach continued to perform somersaults. Sherlock directed his eyes from their handshake to meet her gaze with a breathtaking smolder.

"Sherlock Holmes," he then greeted just as he released her hand, much to Lindsey's disappointment.

"P-pleas-sure," Lindsey stammered then, her voice breaking in between syllables and causing her to sound like a blubbering idiot. Although she didn't turn to look, she was almost certain that both Greg and Philip were looking at her curiously now, wondering how she had managed to maintain her composure and poise in front of Philip, Sally, and even Greg when she seemed to completely lose it in front of Sherlock.

"But, of course, I already know who you are, Mr. Holmes," Lindsey decided to add, her voice still trembling terribly despite the fact that she was able to utter every single word in one smooth succession that time.

A small smirk appeared on Sherlock's lips. "My reputation precedes me."

"You sure that's a good thing?" Philip piped in.

Sherlock decided to ignore Philip's comment. "I sincerely wish you the best of luck with your internship. Your mentor is Philip, after all, so I'm not sure how much you're going to actually learn."

Lindsey's eyes widened just as Greg exclaimed, "Sherlock! Behave yourself, especially in front of a new member of the team."

"If you'll remember quite correctly, Inspector, I don't need a team to perform my work. In fact, it might move a bit more quickly if I wasn't hampered down by far less superior minds."

"That's it, get out," Greg cried out in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Get out of my office now, Sherlock. We'll meet you at the crime scene at half past twelve."

Sherlock made sure to efficiently roll his eyes before turning up his coat and storming out of Greg's office. Lindsey watched him leave through the door, her face completely drained of color. What exactly just happened, her brain demanded her to figure out. Had she just been introduced to Sherlock Holmes, the detective she had admired for years, only to see firsthand how much of a dick he really was?


	2. On a First-Name Basis

**Hello again! Here is the second chapter. I tend to cut the chapters at the end of scenes, so some might be longer or shorter than others. It just feels more natural to me like that. Here is a peek at a case of Sherlock's, but I am lousy at writing cases and deductions. Please provide some constructive criticism to help me improve! Fun fact: this case is inspired by one of my favorite episodes of _Columbo_ called "A Stitch in Crime." **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

Fortunately, Lindsey was able to shake off the awkwardness of her first encounter with Sherlock Holmes, only because she was currently in a police car and on her way to her first crime scene. She was surprised to find that Philip was already placing his trust in her hands. When she'd voiced her concern about this to him, he simply chuckled and replied that firsthand experience was the best type of learning. When she couldn't come up with a sufficient argument against this, Lindsey resumed her duties and helped to prepare the equipment. In particular, it was her job to package up the scrubs worn to prevent contamination of the crime scene.

Once all of the necessary preparations had been made, Lindsey, Philip, Sally, and Greg all piled into the same police car and drove to crime scene.

"All right, Miss Conrad," Philip began, turning in his seat to look at her.

"Please, sir, call me Lindsey," Lindsey insisted, blushing slightly with embarrassment. "It feels so strange to be called Miss Conrad."

"Oh, all right then," Philip answered, continuing on unfazed as if Lindsey had not even brought up the subject. "We are now heading to Shoreditch. Apparently, an elderly homeless man walked by the parking lot there in the middle of the night and found the victim. The victim is a thirty-eight year old woman who, as far as our team can determine, committed suicide."

Lindsey furrowed her brow at this in confusion. "But if the woman committed suicide, why is Homicide Investigation looking into it?"

"Because of Sherlock," Greg piped in from the driver's seat. "When I informed him of the case, gave him the details, and showed him the pictures, he was certain that it was murder. He insisted that we all return to the crime scene and allow him to look at it himself."

"Why exactly are we doing that?" Sally asked suddenly, her voice laced with bitterness. "He's just going to make us look bad. Why do you always let him in on our cases?"

"Because we need him," Greg responded firmly, his eyes boring into Sally's for a split second before they returned to the road. "I know it and you know it. We all know it. Whether we accept it or not is a different thing altogether."

"All right, fine," Sally said, her voice close to pouting. "But he doesn't need to be reminded of that every day."

Lindsey secretly smiled to herself, attempting to hide the smile behind the hand resting on her cheek. Her eyes then turned to the window, not really focusing on any of the London sites flashing by. Instead, her focus shifted towards Sherlock, the convoluted man who had instigated a bewildering reaction within her. What had caused that reaction exactly? There was no point in denying that he was a very handsome man. Lindsey found that she especially adored his dark curls that playfully bounced on his head whenever he moved. But what she found to be most entrancing were Sherlock's eyes with the blue and green tints, carrying within their depths a cornucopia of emotions. Probably most people would not have noticed this little fact, but Lindsey somehow had. His eyes were captivating, breathtaking, and mesmerizing with the subtlest of emotions peeking through and visible only to the most observant of people.

The car was just passing Trafalgar Square when Lindsey allowed a contented sigh to escape her defenses. She realized her mistake too late and prayed that the others would just brush it off as an exaggerated breath. But Lindsey knew what it really meant and at that moment, she could literally feel her heart flutter inside her chest. And yet, another part of her was furiously scolding her distracted mind filled with its distracting thoughts. She was about to perform her first job at a crime scene and she couldn't let the lingering presence of Sherlock Holmes distract her. If she succeeded in this internship, then she could be set for life after she graduated from Oxford. No, Lindsey told herself firmly. Don't screw this up. Don't let thoughts of Sherlock Holmes screw this up for you.

Her thoughts actually managed to pass the time for Lindsey, and before she knew it, they had arrived in Shoreditch. It was a peculiar area to say the least, rundown, poverty-stricken, and directly next door to London's wealthy business district. The two very different sections of London were literally next door neighbors to each other, and yet, Lindsey still felt as though there was an invisible wall between them. The businessmen, in their posh suits, never ventured into Shoreditch and the homeless people never ventured into the business center. The parking lot in question matched the surrounding décor perfectly with its fences in desperate need of repair and a paint job. However, even the yellow _Police Line_ tape seemed strangely out of place, criss-crossing in front of the entrance and preventing the large crowd of people outside the parking lot from entering.

It felt overwhelmingly surreal to be able to walk past this burgeoning crowd and walk under the tape with some air of authority. When she looked behind her, Lindsey noticed the surprised faces looking at her, probably wondering how someone so young could get past the barrier. Lindsey could feel her stomach churning uncomfortably as she turned away from the invasive stares, wondering herself for a moment how she could have possibly gotten here. With trembling hands, she took the scrubs that were offered to her by Sally and slipped them on.

"Are you okay?" Sally asked her then, apparently noticing Lindsey's change in demeanor.

Lindsey was so lost in her thoughts that it took her a moment to realize that someone was speaking to her. "What? Oh yeah…I mean…yes, yes I'm fine, Sally," she managed to stammer out.

"You sure?" Sally asked with genuine concern. "It's completely normal to be nervous at a crime scene, especially for someone who isn't used to seeing grim sights."

"No, no it's not that," Lindsey clarified. "I guess I'm just nervous about doing a good job. I mean, Philip seems to have put a lot of trust in me already."

That made Sally smile. "Don't worry, Lindsey," she assured her. "Philip only puts his trust in the best of people. You'll do a fantastic job."

With that, Sally turned around and walked towards Greg. Lindsey was left to herself for a few moments to smile stupidly to herself. However, that ridiculous smile only grew larger the moment she saw Sherlock ducking under the police tape and walking towards them, his incredible Belstaff coat billowing out behind him as he walked. It was like one of those moments in a James Bond movie, but only better.

Sherlock immediately strode up to the cold corpse resting on the ground in the middle of the parking lot, pulling out what appeared to be a small magnifying glass. Lindsey watched in complete and utter amazement as he worked, bringing the magnifying glass to various places around the body. What amazed Lindsey the most was that Sherlock observed a particular part of the body for only a matter of seconds, but she knew he was taking it all in.

According to John's blog, Sherlock absorbed the tiniest of details about a particular place, even if they don't seem relevant at the time. Oftentimes, however, those observations prove useful and relevant later on in the case. The best example of this would probably be _The Blind Banker_, in which Sherlock took note of the London A-Z book present in the apartments of both Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon. It was only until the very end of the case did Sherlock realize the book's significance, but the information was still stored somewhere in his mind palace.

It was then, however, that Lindsey's eye caught sight of the Belstaff coat again and realized that Sherlock had not taken it off for the sake of putting on the scrubs. Her eyebrows furrowed curiously at this fact, even though Sherlock still had the decency of putting on rubber gloves while performing his work. Greg and Sally strode towards Sherlock and the corpse, carefully keeping their distance so that Sherlock could accomplish his task. Meanwhile, Lindsey did her best to pay attention to Philip's instructions, despite being thoroughly distracted by Sherlock's presence. Fortunately, whenever Philip placed a tool into her hands, Lindsey was focused enough to recognize its name and function. At least her Oxford schooling didn't completely go to waste.

Sherlock seemed to possess an endless amount of energy that was fueled with each progressive step in the case. Lindsey couldn't help but smile as she witnessed Sherlock's childlike enthusiasm come to life before her very eyes. His eyes were wide and bright, a fire inside them that seemed to be burnt out of the eyes of every other adult present. It was almost as if he seemed to forget that time existed in the first place, not caring in the slightest if his work lasted well into the night. His brilliant mind was pushing everything else out of the way, allowing it to focus solely on the details of the case.

"All right, Sherlock, I said I would give you five minutes," she heard Greg utter from a few feet away. "I need anything you got."

"Okay, brace yourself," Philip muttered beside her. "If you thought Sherlock was a dickhead in the office earlier, wait until he shoots off his deductions. He's going to make all of us feel like idiots."

"Do you know how he's able to do all of that?" Lindsey asked him incredulously. "I mean, did he take special training or something?"

"No normal human being should be able to do what he does," Philip replied with a smirk. "That's why he's a psychopath."

Lindsey's eyes widened dramatically at that bold statement. Sherlock…a psychopath? She wasn't entirely sure whether Philip was simply calling him that nasty name out of spite, or if there was some concrete evidence for such a title to be applied. Lindsey was well aware of the fact that Sherlock was eccentric – John Watson's blog had included precise details describing exactly how eccentric he really was. Keeping severed heads and bloody thumbs in the fridge, experimenting with human eyes in the microwave…there seemed to be no limit when it came to Sherlock's activities. But the term "psychopath" brought on an entirely new meaning. Surely, Sherlock wouldn't be a dangerous man, especially when he aided the police in apprehending those types of people. Or could he?

But Lindsey didn't have much time to dwell on the perplexing issue since her attention was suddenly focused on Sherlock's forthcoming deduction. Sherlock stood up and stuffed his magnifying glass in his coat pocket, but his eyes never strayed away from the corpse. The subtle things were what Lindsey seemed to notice above all else – the way his dark eyebrows furrowed, the left side of his mouth twitched, and his deep blue-green eyes vibrated constantly as if to make sure no small detail was overlooked. And then, apparently out of the blue, Sherlock's entire demeanor transformed as soon as his lips formed the trademark smirk and his eyes glowed with delight.

"As I told you before, Greg," Sherlock began. "Elaine Parker was murdered."

"All right then, Sherlock," Greg huffed in exasperation as he folded his arms over his chest. "I know you're going to explain yourself so go ahead."

"The victim is a nurse; that fact is already obvious from the scrubs she is wearing. The sweater she is wearing is very old so she is incredibly sentimental about it, she's not well off, or she gives all her money to charity. Her car is filled with medical supplies like stethoscopes, needles, and gauze so she must be a private nurse and private nurses are always well-off. And if the sweater were sentimental, then she would have packed it away by now for safekeeping.

"Therefore, she must be of the generous sort, donating most of her money to charities rather than spending it on herself. Neither her phone nor her wallet contain pictures of boyfriends or children so she isn't spending money on them. So who on earth would want to murder a kind and generous nurse?"

Sherlock paused for a split second, as if to wait and see if Greg, Sally, Philip or anyone else might actually provide the right answer. After about a minute of awkward silence, during which Lindsey swore she could hear crickets chirping, Sherlock released an exaggerated sigh.

"Really? Do you really not know, Gary?"

"Greg!" Greg cried out in exasperation, while Sally crossed her arms in utter frustration and impatience. Meanwhile, Lindsey had to try her hardest to suppress the smile emerging on her face. But with her hands full, she had to settle with hiding behind the evidence bags in her gloved hands.

"She was murdered for her kindness, for helping someone." Sherlock stated simply. For one split second, Sherlock glanced in Lindsey's direction and their eyes met for the briefest of moments. But to Lindsey, it felt like an eternity in which she was completely and utterly lost in his breathtaking seafoam eyes. In reality, however, it was over as soon as it began, that it almost seemed like a mistake. And before she knew it, Sherlock was already back on track.

"The last number she dialed on her phone. I just researched it quickly. She was calling a suture expert."

"A suture expert?" Greg questioned with a quizzical brow. "What are you on about?"

"Why would anyone need to consult a suture expert?" Sherlock continued in an exasperated voice. "Why would an ordinary nurse need to know anything about the suture…unless something was wrong with it?"

"Okay…so…how on earth are you going to figure out what is wrong with the suture? And what does this have to do with the stiff?"

"If something was wrong with the suture," Sherlock continued. "Then perhaps she was murdered for that very reason. Perhaps that was something she wasn't supposed to find out."

A part of Lindsey sincerely hoped that Sherlock would appear at every single crime scene she ever worked at. Another part of her wished he would never show up again. It was so very difficult to focus with him around, firing off deductions, even if she was simply collecting evidence into bags. The real work would come at the office, but Lindsey still had to be diligent and make sure she wasn't missing anything of importance. And he was making that close to impossible.

"She committed suicide!" Sally interjected haughtily. "She was holding the knife in her hands!"

"Why would anyone come here to commit suicide?" Sherlock pointed out. "Most people would go to a place of peace and quiet. This, however, is exactly where a murder would take place. It's somewhere no one else wants to go…making it easy for the killer to hide the body. Moreover, there are traces of skin underneath her fingernails. That must mean she was trying to claw away at her murderer. She was trying to put up a fight."

"Well, regardless, we need to collect some blood samples and take them to the lab." Greg stated. "To see if any of the blood actually belongs to someone beside the victim. Oh no…don't give me that look…" Greg said, running his hand over his face in exhaustion. The bloodshot, red eyes and the creases of worry were the key signs to Lindsey that her new boss was in desperate need of a holiday.

"What? What look?" Sherlock asked, the most ridiculous and, Lindsey had to admit, adorable look of innocence on his face. It took all of her self-control not to giggle in front of Philip at that very moment.

"You know bloody well what look, Sherlock. You will not, and I repeat, will not go off on your own. You know what I'm capable of doing if you go that far."

"What? Are you threatening me with another drugs bust?"

"Perhaps I am," Greg answered triumphantly, a smirk adorning his face for the first time that day. "So don't even think about it. This is _our _case, remember?"

"And don't you forget it, Freak," Sally suddenly said, striding up to where Greg and Sherlock were standing. Once again, Lindsey became thoroughly distracted and nearly dropped the evidence bag in her hand. To her immense relief, Philip was busy talking with someone else from the forensics team and failed to notice her minor slipup. Once she'd recovered and the evidence bag was safely in its respective box, Lindsey turned back towards the silent confrontation now taking place between Sherlock and Sally.

The moment that Sally had uttered the word _freak_, Lindsey's full attention was on Sherlock. She watched as his eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed; it was his attempt at a glare in Sally's direction. But as soon as Sally and Greg walked away, that glare faded away, and for a split second, Lindsey could have sworn that she saw a flash of hurt cross Sherlock's face. His eyes were the part of his face that spoke the most to her. They were no longer vibrating at the speed of light like before when he'd performed a deduction. In fact, they seemed greyer than usual…dead even. The spark that once lit up those eyes had been snuffed out by a single, cruel name uttered from the lips of a woman Lindsey once deemed as kind and caring. And it broke Lindsey's heart into pieces.

But the expression vanished from Sherlock's face in a matter of seconds and the usual mask of stoicism returned once more. It was almost as if no change had even taken place. Before she knew it, he was already ducking under the police tape and making his way towards the street in order to hail a taxi. For some strange reason, a reason she would never be able to explain, Lindsey found herself ducking under the tape as well and sprinting after Sherlock to keep up with his long strides.

"Mr. Holmes!"

As soon as she'd uttered his name, a part of Lindsey wished she had just been able to suppress the urge and kept her mouth shut. Now, the words were on the tip of her tongue and remained there for what seemed like an eternity. How could she get the words out now that Sherlock was looking directly at her with those piercing, beautiful eyes of his?

"Miss Conrad," Sherlock greeted, his deep baritone voice uttering her name for the first time and immediately turning her legs into jelly. She had no idea how she was able to find her voice again in the span of just a few milliseconds.

"I…" Lindsey stuttered, cringing inwardly at how pathetic and wimpy she must have sounded to him. He was so calm and collected and she…well she was a blubbering mess who had absolutely no trouble talking to male classmates at university. So what was it about Sherlock Holmes? What made him different from any other man?

Sherlock raised a single eyebrow. "Yes?"

Lindsey had to gulp before she could speak again. "I…uh…well…I…I just wanted to…to…tell you…how amazing…it was to…to watch you…today."

And for the first time that day, she watched as a genuine smile emerged on his handsome face. It was not one of his usual smiles of arrogance or superiority, but was soft, gentle, simple, and enough to express the joy her comment had brought him. Sure, it was small and short-lived, but Lindsey was once again able to detect it. She couldn't help but smile in return, glad to have nursed his damaged pride following Sally's cruel comment.

"And I…I'm…sorry…"

"Sorry?"

"Y-yes…" she stammered, unsure whether or not she should actually be saying this. "I'm sorry…for what…Sergeant Donovan said."

There was moment of silence between them that seemed to last an eternity. Lindsey didn't think it was possible to render the great Sherlock Holmes speechless, but it seemed as if she had just achieved the unachievable. Once again, she found herself watching his face with intense concentration, monitoring the subtlest of changes as the awkward silence stretched on. His Cupid's Bow lips opened a fraction before shutting close again, as if deciding against those particular choice of words. Lindsey couldn't quite decide which was more awkward: the fact that neither of them could speak or that Sherlock's intense gaze on her never faltered.

There was something so extraordinary about this man, and Lindsey wasn't considering his intelligence when this thought crossed her mind. It was the mystery surrounding him that continued to entrance her, the shell that he had constructed to protect every other aspect that defined him. Lindsey could see it in his eyes; there was a fascinating story hidden within their depths that would take every ounce of her energy to uncover. And yet, she was thrilled at the prospect of such a journey. But why this man? Why was he so fascinating to her, more than anyone she'd ever met? All she seemed to do today was ask unanswerable questions that only seemed to weigh down her burdened mind. She was supposed to be focusing on her new internship, which she had been able to do for the most part. But when it came to Sherlock Holmes, it seemed like an impossible feat to try to turn away and simply ignore him.

All of a sudden, Sherlock cleared his throat and that was enough to pull Lindsey from her thoughts.

"Thank you, Miss Conrad," he replied in a passive tone of voice. "You're very kind. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Lindsey!" she blurted out, just before Sherlock had the chance to completely turn away from her. When he turned back to face her, his eyebrows deeply furrowed, Lindsey could feel her cheeks swiftly becoming flushed with embarrassment. Her heart momentarily clenched inside her chest at the thought that she'd just irritated him by keeping him there a second longer than he needed to be.

"Sorry?" he asked, his voice somewhat laced with the very irritation she was afraid of.

"Lindsey," she repeated, her voice softer and trembling with anxiety. "Please call me Lindsey."

There it was again – that soft, sweet smile of his that made Lindsey's heart swell in her chest. In that instant, the constriction in her chest loosened and the anxiety she'd experienced seconds ago dissipated with the appearance of that smile. Once more, she was reminded of the five year old boy hidden inside the thirty-five year old man; that boyish grin and bright eyes were all it took to make her want to melt on the spot.

"Very well, then, Lindsey. Since we're on a first-name basis, I suppose you should call me Sherlock," Sherlock replied.

She could feel herself tremble at the way he'd spoken her first name with that deep, intoxicating voice of his. "Y-yes…" she answered, her voice beginning to shake again. "Yes, thank you…Sherlock…"

With one last grin, Sherlock turned back towards the direction of the street, leaving a very flustered Lindsey behind with the dorkiest smile on her face.


	3. Beauty of Their Dreams

**Short update. Thank you to Misa-chama and lolls4 for following! I know that this story starts out slow. I tend to write stories that are character-centric with hopefully meaningful scenes between characters so that their relationships develop. Alas, this story will not revolve around a case or have a lot of action. But there will be plenty of fluff and hurt/comfort scenes if that's what you're into. Enjoy and please leave a review! That would make my day! :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

Lindsey had just opened the door to her flat, dragging her groceries behind her, when her mobile phone started to ring inside her coat pocket. With an overly dramatic sigh, she placed her bags on the kitchen table before digging in her coat pocket for the desired object. She didn't even bother to look at the caller ID before answering.

"Hello?"

"Hello, sweetheart!"

"Oh hi, Mum," Lindsey replied sweetly into the phone as she began to multi-task and empty the food from the bags. "How are you?"

"Oh, everything's just fine here. Your father's screaming at the telly again," her mother said with a chuckle.

Sure enough, Lindsey had to abruptly pull the phone away from her ear just as an earth-shattering shout erupted from the other end of the conversation. With a sweet giggle, Lindsey could easily imagine her father slouched on the couch in the sitting room, a beer in one hand and a bag of crisps in the other, screaming at the television every time there was a bad call from the referee, an impressive move from one of the players, or a goal by Manchester United. If anyone in the city of Manchester had a question about football, all they had to do was consult Spencer Conrad, for he knew every single minute detail about the team and the game. When Lindsey first went off to university, she thought that her father's obnoxious behavior on game days would be the one thing she wouldn't miss while away from home. But it wasn't long before she realized that she missed even that, simply because it was another reminder of her family.

"How was your day, dear? How was your first day?" her mother finally managed to ask as soon as Mr. Conrad had settled down once again.

"It was wonderful!" Lindsey exclaimed excitedly just as she finished removing the groceries from her first bag. "I work with a man called Mr. Anderson and he is very kind and understanding. He and another police officer, Sergeant Donovan, were very encouraging. They continued to assure me that I was going to do a fine job. It's great to have that kind of support when you're nervous."

"That's lovely to hear," Mrs. Conrad gushed. "It's going to be a great experience for you. I just know you'll be able to get a full-time job once you're finished with university."

"I'm not sure about that, Mum," Lindsey said as the paralyzing doubt crept into her mind once again. "It's just a summer internship and I have one more year of university. They'll probably forget all about me when school starts up again."

"Don't say that, Lindsey," she gently scolded her self-deprecating daughter. "You're going to do so wonderfully that it will be impossible to forget you. Don't ever doubt yourself, yeah? Remember what Eleanor Roosevelt said!"

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams," Lindsey recited, a small smile gracing her lips. At that moment, her heart began to swell inside her chest. Her mum always knew what to say to her when she was feeling the slightest bit of doubt about herself. It was something that she would always be able to give her, and Lindsey was eternally grateful for that.

"Thanks, Mum."

"Of course, sweetheart. Everything's going to work out just fine. You'll see."


	4. Damn You, Sherlock Holmes

**So...who else is totally stoked to hear that Benedict is going to play Doctor Strange? That means he's a Marvel and Disney character! My mind's been blown. He's slowly but surely taking over Hollywood and I love it!  
><strong>

**Anyhoo, here's more! Hope you enjoy and please review! And thank you to Sarcastic iorny, SkyAzusa, WotcherBoo for following and WotcherBoo and Thetroublewithexes for favoriting! **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

"Good morning, Lindsey!"

"Good morning, Philip!"

"Sorry, but I have some tedious work for you today," Philip said as he gently pulled Lindsey off to the side. "Since we collected some more blood samples from yesterday's visit to the crime scene, I was wondering if you could send them off to the lab technicians at Bart's."

"Of course!" Lindsey exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm.

"God, I just love your energy," Philip chuckled. "Can you give me some of yours?"

Lindsey grinned from ear to ear as she followed Philip to his office where the samples had been stored overnight. She recognized the box into which she'd helped to load the samples and stood patiently by the door as her boss rummaged through the various evidence bags. As she waited, she observed the various offices and cubicles that made up the Homicide Investigation division of the London Metropolitan Police. It wasn't as if it appeared any differently from what she'd expected, but it was the people who sat in those chairs and worked at those desks who captured her attention. It wasn't as if she could deduce their life stories like Sherlock could, but Lindsey was sometimes able to pick up the subtlest of emotions crossing their faces. Most of the time, especially in a work setting like this, the expressions were pretty much identical across the board – concentration, frustration, and anxiety. But sometimes, there was the occasional outlier who revealed small hints of happiness or sadness stemming from other events in their lives. Lindsey often did just this when she occasionally visited her dad's office when she was younger.

"Bloody hell!"

Lindsey nearly jumped out of her skin as the harsh cry interrupted her thoughts. She turned away from her view of the office back to Philip who was now running a hand over his face in frustration.

"Philip?" Lindsey asked, concern etched in her face and laced with her words. "What's wrong?"

"The blood samples! I can't find them anywhere!" Philip screamed out, his face contorted with frustration and exasperation. "I couldn't have possibly misplaced them, could I? They were here last night when we brought the boxes back to Scotland Yard! I remember seeing them right here, at the very top of the box, just as I shut off the lights to my office! I don't understand!"

"It's okay, sir," Lindsey assured him as she strode into the office. "We'll find them. We just have to keep looking."

Philip nodded and he and Lindsey continued to rummage through the dozen or so boxes that they'd filled with evidence from the case. Thirty minutes later, the office became littered with Ziploc bags, gloves, and scrubs and yet, they were still empty-handed and just as frustrated as ever. Once again, Philip rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to solve the case of the disappearing blood samples. Lindsey continued to look through every inch of the boxes, but her luck was swiftly running short. After a few more minutes passed, Philip excused himself, ordering Lindsey to keep looking while he went to speak with Greg. It didn't take long for Lindsey to be scared out of her wits again by the ruckus coming from the hall.

"I'm going to kill him!"

"Philip, calm down. I'm not sure that's what happened. It was just a suggestion."

"No, you're probably right! That has to be what happened! I know I put the samples in this box!"

"Sir?" Lindsey ventured to ask, wary of the steam coming out of Philip's ears. "What's happened?"

Philip didn't seem to have heard her. "I'm going to kill that bastard!"

Lindsey turned toward Greg with an intense expression of concern and alarm, but Greg immediately eased her worry when he flashed a gentle smile of reassurance. Lindsey's nerves were settled somewhat, but that didn't prevent the knot in her stomach from forming. It didn't take a genius to venture a guess at whom Philip was referring to, especially after bearing witness to the battle of wits between the two men just yesterday. By her own, feeble attempts at a deduction, Lindsey was able to figure out what had happened to the missing blood samples.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Sherlock," Greg answered her, since Philip had already stormed out of the office. "When Philip came into my office and informed me of the missing samples, I suggested that Sherlock might have stolen them. It was meant to be a joke, but Philip took it seriously and now I'm beginning to as well."

"But surely he wouldn't steal evidence from the police?" Lindsey ventured to ask, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Actually he would," Greg replied with a dramatic sigh. If that action had been accompanied by an equally dramatic eye roll, it would have mirrored the type of reaction she'd expect Sherlock to make. Lindsey found that a ridiculous smile now graced her lips, and she had to consciously wipe it off her face to avoid curious glances from Greg or Philip.

Once again, Lindsey had to inwardly scold herself for allowing another distracting thought to cross her mind regarding Sherlock. There seemed to be an onslaught of thoughts and feelings regarding that very man that tormented her throughout last night and this morning. When she'd gotten to work, she'd hoped that she would be too busy to allow those thoughts to invade her concentration, but they were as intransigent as ever. Lindsey's only hope now was that she wouldn't be able to see Sherlock all that often. For now, however, she supposed she would have to deal with unexpected thoughts to pass her mind without any prior warning.

"Lindsey," Greg spoke up again. "Would you mind going to retrieve those samples from Sherlock?"

Well, so much for that. Now, Lindsey was burdened with the task of actually trying to locate Sherlock Holmes and convince him to surrender the samples. How on earth was she going to accomplish that when she could barely speak to the man? How could she when he would probably be able to trick her or coerce her into returning to Scotland Yard empty-handed? But she couldn't exactly refuse when it was her second day on the job.

"Of course, sir," Lindsey said, although her voice began to shake involuntarily. "Where exactly can I find him?"

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest," Greg answered. "He'll most likely be in the pathology building at Bart's or at 221B Baker Street. I can give you his and John Watson's mobile numbers if you can't find him."

So, Lindsey simply nodded and escaped the room as soon as she'd obtained the necessary contact information, retrieving her coat and purse and exiting the office. As she made her way towards the St. James's Park Tube station, Lindsey's stomach seemed to be churning again as if there were butterflies invading her stomach. By the time she'd gotten onto the train, her head collapsed in her hands as a new wave of nausea overwhelmed her. How on earth was she going to do this without appearing idiotic to the one person who thought everyone was an idiot? She'd barely been able to have a complete conversation with him. Now she had to convince him to do something?

As Lindsey laid her head against the wall of the train, closing her eyes in exasperation, a new thought crossed her mind.

_Damn you, Sherlock Holmes._


	5. Completely Useless

**Thank you to Always-Be-Batman and EisForElephant for favoriting! Enjoy and please leave a review! :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

She decided to first try St. Bartholomew's Hospital with the assumption that Sherlock would work on the blood samples there. It wasn't as if she minded traversing the streets of London; it was her favorite city in the world after all and the reason why she'd left her family behind in Manchester for the summer. But a part of her also dreaded the possibility that this internship would be an amalgamation of more mindless errands and not of the work she was so passionate about.

And yet, a completely different part of her was both frightened and thrilled at the prospect of seeing Sherlock again. As she continued to navigate her way through the convoluted maze that was St. Bart's, Lindsey tried to conjure up a clever way to get Sherlock to return the blood samples. It was difficult, however, to even contemplate the first sentence and that paralyzed her for the majority of her journey.

Before she knew what was happening, Lindsey suddenly collided into something that shouldn't have been there and her feet slipped from underneath her before she could maintain her balance. The collision had been against her head, so by the time she was collapsed onto the floor, her head was throbbing so hard she could literally feel the circular bruise starting to form on her forehead. Lindsey rubbed the spot furiously with her hand before looking up to see another woman on the floor, attempting to untangle herself from her lab coat and twisting her fingers nervously through her light brown ponytail.

When the other woman finally locked eyes with her, Lindsey was able to see her properly. Her sweet and gentle face already had the look of apology across it and Lindsey immediately had the urge to assure the woman that she was to blame. But before she could get the words out, another figure knelt down next to the woman and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right, Molly?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm fine. Thank you."

It took all of Lindsey's self-control to suppress the gasp that threatened to escape past her lips. Sure enough, there was Sherlock, helping the woman he addressed as Molly to her feet. As soon as Molly was safely planted on the ground once again, Sherlock looked down and locked eyes with Lindsey, who was still pathetically sprawled on the ground and now gaping up at the mysterious man in the Belstaff coat.

If Lindsey thought that the fall had knocked the wind out of her, it was nothing compared to the loss of oxygen she experienced when Sherlock crouched down beside her, gently wrapped his arm around her waist, and guided her to her feet. Lindsey would never be sure how long Sherlock's hand actually rested on her waist, but it seemed like an eternity in her own, perfect little world. His gentle touch sent a wave of electric shocks throughout her body, making her forget all that was around her. His blue-green eyes bore into her auburn ones but for once, Lindsey couldn't decipher what those eyes were telling her. It was a blank slate in front of her and yet, his eyes didn't look away from hers for a long time. As long as Sherlock held his stare with her, the moment seemed to last forever.

Finally, the spell was broken when Sherlock tore his eyes away from Lindsey and released an awkward cough before speaking. "Are you…umm…all right?"

"Y-yes…" Lindsey stammered, in awe of the fact that she was able to find her voice at all. "Yes, I'm okay…t-thank y-you…"

"Oh my goodness," Molly suddenly exclaimed, furthering destroying the enchantment that Sherlock had conjured upon her. Molly then invaded her vision, forcing Sherlock to step off to the side much to Lindsey's disappointment. "I am so sorry for bumping into you like that. I can be so clumsy sometimes!"

"Oh no, it was completely my fault," Lindsey insisted as she felt the heat creep up into her cheeks. It was not that she was embarrassed for running into Molly; it was that Sherlock had seen the collision happen and had to literally pick her up off the ground. The thought of Sherlock looking at her right now, with those intense and observant eyes of his, and being able to perceive the flush on her cheeks, only made it worse. Now, Lindsey was certain that she was burning scarlet. If only she could make a mad dash for the exit and disappear into the enclosing walls of her flat, secluding herself from the prying eyes of the world who wanted to laugh and gawk at her shame. But her overwhelming sense of duty glued her feet to the ground, so she settled for lowering her eyes to her shoes.

"Are you all right?"

Molly's kind and gentle voice immediately caused Lindsey to look up again. If it had just been the two women in the same room, everything would have been perfectly fine – the intense feelings of shame and embarrassment would have melted away in an instant. But, that single, lingering presence, the one that seemed to dominate the entire space around her, was impossible to ignore. Lindsey's eyes tried to focus on Molly's, but they seemed to have a mind of their own and strayed away from the original subject to the one directly adjacent.

"Yes," Lindsey finally answered. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I'm Dr. Molly Hooper, by the way," Molly greeted with another warm smile and an extended hand.

"Lindsey Conrad," Lindsey replied as she returned the handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hooper."

"The pleasure is all mine. And please call me Molly. I insist." Then turning towards Sherlock, Molly began an unnecessary introduction. "And this is Sher…"

"No need, Molly. We've already met," Sherlock swiftly interrupted her, waving his hand nonchalantly.

"Oh you have?" Molly said, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. "How do you know each other?"

"We met yesterday…" Lindsey explained as she kept her eyes locked onto Molly's, ignoring the nagging at the back of her head that urged her to look at Sherlock. "…at New Scotland Yard. I'm one of the new forensics interns there for the summer."

"That's wonderful!" Molly exclaimed, beaming. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you so much."

"Are you still at university? Which one? What year are you in?"

Any attempt to try to focus on the questions just asked of her would have been impossible, especially since the figure next to Molly was now fidgeting awkwardly. Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsey watched as Sherlock jostled about on the balls of his feet and she quickly realized that he was not only fidgeting, but actually trying to sneak off towards the door. His demeanor, at that very moment, mirrored that of an impatient little boy bored out of his mind from his mother's small talk with friends. Once she gathered up enough courage to look up at his face, she was amused to find his struggled attempts at suppressing his usual expressions of impatience and annoyance.

When Molly realized that Lindsey was no longer looking at her, she too turned towards Sherlock and just as swiftly picked up on the signals.

"Oh sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to keep you. Do you need to be somewhere?"

"Yes, I should probably be heading back to Baker Street."

"I should probably be heading back to work too," Molly said, nodding. "Well, I'll see you later, Sherlock. And it was nice to meet you, Lindsey."

"And you, Molly."

Sherlock was already halfway down the hall by the time she and Molly had exchanged their farewells. Once Molly had disappeared down an adjacent hall, Lindsey felt herself jerk awake as if a bolt of lightning had struck her to her very core.

"Sherlock, wait!"

Sherlock immediately stiffened, just as his hand was about to push the door open. This time, he didn't try to suppress the obvious signs of annoyance, allowing a sigh of frustration to escape through his nose and causing Lindsey to become paralyzed with dread. He didn't even bother to turn around when he addressed her again.

"What is it, Lindsey?"

"I…" Lindsey stammered, mentally kicking herself for the fact that her voice seemed to vanish at the very moment when she needed it the most. For a split second, all coherent thought was swept from her mind, almost wiping it like a clean slate and nearly forcing her to forget the original reason for her visit. Lindsey had never felt so petrified in her entire life. Once he realized that she was not going to respond any time soon, Sherlock let out a huff of both annoyance and amusement before pushing through the door. In one blink, his coat was swirling around the door; in another, he was gone.

It took several seconds too long for Lindsey to comprehend what had just happened, and several seconds after that to realize what she had to do. But her feet didn't want to seem to cooperate with the signals firing from her brain, content as they were with keeping her as far away from that paralyzing man as possible. And yet, another part of her wanted nothing more than to run after that very same man, for more reasons than to fulfill the task given to her by the Detective Inspector. It took a lot of convincing to finally get her to rush through the same doors, but much to her dismay, her internal battle had cost her several seconds and Sherlock was no longer in her line of sight. She skidded to a halt and sighed in desperation, running a hand through her tangled mess of hair.

Then Lindsey remembered that Sherlock had mentioned that he would be heading back to Baker Street. Greg had given her the address, so all she had to do was find a cab to take her there. Moreover, it was highly unlikely that Sherlock had already been able to flag down a cab, or make it to the Tube station if he was taking that route, so Lindsey would probably be able to catch up with him. With renewed sense of determination, Lindsey made her way down the several flights of stairs until she burst into the bright summer sun, gleaming from behind London clouds.

Sherlock stood on the edge of the curb, attempting to flag down the nearest cab which, to his dismay, was already occupied. He growled in frustration as he threw down his arm, nearly whacking the elderly lady walking in the line of fire. A normal person would have taken the time to apologize for the near collision, but Lindsey had to constantly remind herself who she was in the presence of, so it didn't surprise her when Sherlock completely overlooked that social obligation. His futile attempts continued until he took notice of Lindsey and once again, her legs turned into jelly.

To her great surprise, Sherlock actually smiled. Sure, it was a smile brimming with arrogance, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"You need to be careful, Miss Conrad," Sherlock began in a teasing voice. "I'm beginning to think I have a stalker."

"Oh…I…" Lindsey stammered, but she willed herself to speak fluently this time. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't mean to seem…"

"It's fine," he replied, physically waving off her comment with his hand. "So are you able to speak to me this time?"

"Yes…" Lindsey answered, although the consistent tremor in her voice didn't sound so sure of this fact. "I was sent over here by Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Is that so?" Sherlock responded, raising one of his eyebrows quizzically. "Well, I guess it's to be expected that he would send the new intern to do the dirty work."

Lindsey couldn't help but smile at his comment, not only because it was amusing but also because it was so very true. She'd had numerous other internship experiences in which this type of hierarchy existed and she'd cringed in the past whenever she was made to do menial tasks. This particular task, of course, carried an entirely different kind of dread with it and when she was reminded of that fact, the smile vanished from Lindsey's face.

"Sherlock…" Lindsey began carefully as her heart began pounding inside her chest, knowing she was treading on incredibly unsteady ground. "Mr. Lestrade wanted me to come down here to ask you if you knew where yesterday's blood samples had gotten to. Mr. Anderson and I were trying to look for them this morning and weren't able to find them."

"That's because I have them," he responded rather bluntly and Lindsey watched as Sherlock's face changed into an expression that seemed to speak to her in his characteristic annoyed tone. _Wasn't that obvious,_ his eyes seemed to say as they vibrated back and forth across her every feature.

"Oh…well…" Lindsey gulped and stammered, the words she'd prepared earlier escaping on the tip of her tongue. "I…well, I…really need them back, Sherlock. We need to send them off to the lab."

"There's really no need for you to do that, you know. I've already performed all of the necessary tests on the samples."

"I'm sure you have, but the police really need to send them to the official lab."

"No."

It was firm and unwavering, nearly convincing Lindsey to give up right then and there. What was more frightening, however, was the same firmness amplified in his expression. This time, his eyes didn't move, and it almost seemed unnatural for Sherlock to ever be in such a state of immobility. Instead, his eyes bore into her with intensity ten times more powerful than was used for a usual deduction. That was because, this time, Sherlock wasn't analyzing her. He was trying to break her down, destroy any remnant of courage she'd been trying so hard to invoke. And it left Lindsey utterly paralyzed.

"W-what?"

"I said no," Sherlock repeated, his stern expression refusing to waver for even a second. "I will not allow incompetent police and lab technicians to perform this important work."

"But they're not…"

"Yes, they are," Sherlock stated, the calmness in his voice unnerving her even more than if he'd been shouting at her. "Every single person involved in this case is incompetent, except for me of course. If I don't go off and do my own investigations, the case will never be solved."

The breath was stolen from her lungs in the span of those few short seconds, making her next attempt at speaking completely and utterly futile. With another heaving and shuddering breath, Lindsey could feel the tears stinging at her eyes and threatening to slip down her cheeks. At first, she thought that closing her eyes would provide a barrier to the flow, but it actually made the tears a more formidable threat. Fortunately, Lindsey was able to turn away and physically suppress them with her hand. Why was she so upset by this? Shouldn't she have expected this kind of attitude from the most brilliant and arrogant man in London? And it wasn't as if he was directly insulting her, necessarily. He was insulting every person involved in the case and in this way, he was indirectly criticizing her abilities. Surely he couldn't degrade her already, especially when she'd just started out…could he?

"Sherlock…please…"

"Philip should have come himself," Sherlock said then, causing Lindsey to turn back towards Sherlock with curiosity. She should have just left then and there – she knew what was coming. His tone of voice, his choice of words…everything was leading up to a direct insult this time. And yet she remained, her petrified legs refusing to listen to her brain's commands. _Just leave_, she scolded herself. _Don't let yourself get hurt._

"At least he would be able to speak to me," Sherlock continued, his eyes now vibrating back and forth, observing his surroundings just as another wave of tears threatened to overcome her. "He may have a silly infatuation with me now, but at least his doesn't render him completely useless."

That was the comment that sent Lindsey over the edge. The tears instantly spilled down her cheeks like a flood, effectively causing her skin to irritate and redden her nose, her cheeks, and the edges of her eyes. It was in that moment that she'd wished she'd carried tissues in her purse.

Of course he knew about her silly little crush. The signs would have been there for the world to see, and Sherlock, of all people, would be able to detect them regardless of how subtle. He was Sherlock Holmes for crying out loud, so why hadn't she known to conceal them better? Then again, Lindsey didn't think she could have no matter how hard she tried. She'd always been that way – exposing her emotions like an open book for the world to judge her. Whenever she'd been overly stressed from university, or enduring a bad breakup, she wouldn't hold back the tears in front of her closest friends. Fortunately, her friends had always been sympathetic and understanding, but Lindsey had always wished that she could reign in her emotions so much better.

Here, in front of her, was a man with a personality nearly polar opposite to her own. Lindsey knew that Sherlock wasn't a robot, completely devoid of human emotion. But when he did experience a strong emotion, which for Lindsey would be completely debilitating, it was disguised behind the mask of stoicism and apathy. In a way, Sherlock's eyes were truly the windows to his soul, the only signs of a human existing beneath that rigid exterior.

After several moments of the most uncomfortable silence she'd ever experienced, Lindsey spoke with a trembling voice, her eyes still refusing to look up into his. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

When she failed to hear a response from Sherlock, even an annoyed huff, Lindsey courageously raised her eyes to look into his grey orbs and was able to detect a hint of confusion. This, in turn, confused Lindsey as to how this genius detective could ever be confused. But then again, she had to remind herself of his shortcomings in the social arena. But what about her comment had confused him?

It was then, however, that a taxi cab pulled up beside the curb, even without Sherlock flagging it down. When Sherlock noticed it, a wave of relief seemed to wash over his face and he took that opportunity to disappear inside the car and away from Lindsey. Before Lindsey even knew what was happening, the car had driven away from the curb and Sherlock disappeared into the insanity that was London. It took several moments for Lindsey to finally turn around, in the direction of St. Paul's Tube station. In the meantime, a fresh batch of tears trickled down her cheeks, staining the sidewalk beneath her feet.


	6. The Least I Could Do

**Hi everyone! Hope you all had a fun Halloween! Here's a new update! **

**Thank you to CaptainWilliamsN7 and jess114 for favoriting and GoDrinkPinesol624 for my first review! Also thank you to my new followers: ****CaptainWilliamsN7, GoDrinkPinesol624, IzzyBel, JanSmoe12, Nymartian, Satine Gold, StaceyBaggins, Whovianrage, bravedreamer, echo2013, sarahrachel21, and xPunkyFishx! You are all amazing! **

**This will be the first of many chapters with song lyrics. Just FYI :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.  
><strong>

Fortunately, Greg was very understanding when Lindsey admitted her failure to retrieve the samples. Besides John, Greg probably had to deal with Sherlock's stubbornness and criticism more often than anyone and Lindsey now understood why she was able to detect constant anxiety in the middle-aged man. Whenever she happened to peek into his office, she always seemed to catch him when he was running his hand through his gray hair or over his face in exasperation.

Several hours later, Lindsey was relieved to be going home. It wasn't as if the day at work was unbearable. In fact, she rather enjoyed the work that she'd been given that day and was happily reminded of the reason why she was doing this job – it genuinely excited her. Of course, Sherlock had been a constant nagging thought at the back of her head all day. Eventually, his constant presence in her mind drove her to exhaustion, and now all she wanted to do was eat dinner and then play away her stress on the piano.

She did exactly that, as soon as the dishes had been cleared away, washed, and placed in their appropriate cabinet. Upon approaching the piano, her prized treasure, Lindsey went through her repertoire of memorized music. It didn't take her long at all to decide on her favorite song to play. After what she'd been through today, she definitely deserved it.

It wasn't long before a string of beautiful notes invaded ever corner of the flat. Closing her eyes, Lindsey allowed the music to consume her completely, replacing every stressful thought and every agonizing romantic feeling with complete and utter peace. She no longer wanted to think about anything, only how this beautiful music affected her to her very core. Her practiced hands hit every note perfectly, with gentleness appropriate for the soft intensity of the song. Then, when the time for the vocals began, Lindsey's voice erupted from her chest like an explosion of immense beauty.

_Every night in my dreams, _

_I see you, I feel you._

_That is how I know you go on._

_Far across the distance, _

_And spaces between us,_

_You have come to show you go on. _

_Near, far, wherever you are,_

_I believe that the heart does go on._

_Once more you open the door,_

_And you're here in my heart and_

_My heart will go on and on._

_Love can touch us one time,_

_And last for a lifetime,_

_And never let go till we're gone._

_Love was when I loved you,_

_One true time I hold to,_

_In my life we'll always go on._

_Near, far, wherever you are,_

_I believe that the heart does go on._

_Once more you open the door,_

_And you're here in my heart and_

_My heart will go on and on._

_You're here, there's nothing I fear,_

_And I know that my heart will go on._

_We'll stay forever this way._

_You are safe in my heart and_

_My heart will go on and on. _

"That was beautiful."

Even if Lindsey had actually tried to suppress the yelp, she didn't think it could have been possible. Then again, she didn't try very hard, especially when her brain instantly recognized the deep, intoxicating voice infiltrating every corner of the room. Even before she turned around to face her intruder, Lindsey could feel her heart jumping up into her throat and whether or not it was a feeling of dread or of exhilaration, she didn't know. Her eyes fell upon the brooding figure of Sherlock Holmes, the very first and last person she wanted to see at that moment. Her conflicting emotions, coupled with the fright she'd just experienced, effectively paralyzed her tongue.

Meanwhile, Sherlock decided to step out of the shadows and into the lit part of the living room. As usual, his rapid eyes darted back and forth, up and down her body to detect anything that might have changed about her from the last time they'd seen each other. His Belstaff coat billowed outwards around his legs and his gloved hands were clasped behind his back. He was so graceful and poise while Lindsey, on the other hand, was dangerously close to falling off the piano bench. It was only a car's headlights flashing through her open window that released her from her trance, and she shakily rose to her feet.

"Sherlock?" Lindsey stammered, cringing inwardly at the way her voice sounded. "Wh-ha…what…what are you…"

"The pitch wasn't quite perfect, but I actually enjoyed listening to it," Sherlock continued on with his rambling, as if he hadn't heard Lindsey's stuttering question at all.

"Wait…what?" Lindsey finally managed to enunciate and this time, Sherlock heard her.

"Your piece," Sherlock explained. "I enjoyed listening to it."

"You…you did?"

"Yes," he replied, looking at her curiously with a single, raised eyebrow. "Why are you surprised by that?"

It was only then that Lindsey realized that her mouth was hanging open slightly and in terror, she immediately shut it close. Her hands, once gracefully traversing the piano keyboard, were now clenched nervously into fists in front of her. How on earth was she supposed to respond to that? Had Sherlock Holmes ever complimented someone in his entire life? If he had even once, he must have known it to be a rare occasion, and that the question she'd asked was not unwarranted. Goodness, he was such a confusing man. Lindsey had always thought men were the most confusing creatures on the planet, but Sherlock was definitely on the top of the list.

How long she'd been contemplating the complexities of the opposite gender, Lindsey hadn't the faintest idea. But a part of her knew it had been longer than Sherlock's patience would allow, because he was already rolling his eyes and making his way towards one of the chairs near her fireplace.

"Must you always become speechless in front of me?" he asked with a huff as he plopped down in her favorite chair.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Sherlock," Lindsey replied, feeling the tears pricking at her eyes. "I just didn't know how to respond to your compliment. I know you don't give them freely…"

Sherlock looked up at her curiously then, one of his adorable, rebellious curls falling on his forehead. For one brief, swooning moment, Lindsey imagined what it would be like to run her fingers through those beautiful dark curls.

"What you say is true," Sherlock responded then with a small smirk.

Lindsey could feel her heart involuntarily swelling inside her chest at the last comment. It made her almost forget the insult he'd thrown in her direction earlier that day…almost. Once again, Lindsey's mind became heavy with complete and utter bewilderment at Sherlock's unpredictable behavior. One minute, he was cold, cruel, and calculating and possessed the amazing ability to make her cry on the spot. The next, she found herself inwardly sighing at his peculiar sweetness and adorableness. How could a single man elicit so many emotions, and conflicting emotions at that?

"So you…really did enjoy it?" Lindsey asked then, sitting across from him in the opposite chair. "My piece, I mean."

"Yes, did I not just say that?" Sherlock answered with yet another annoyed huff.

"Yes, yes you did. Sorry." Lindsey replied timidly, just as an overpowering blush began to creep up into her cheeks. Fortunately, the room had been dimly lit ever since she returned home, with the only light source coming from the adjacent kitchen and street lamps through the window. And yet, Lindsey still felt the need to lower her eyes to her hands, slowly twisting uncomfortably in her lap. She deliberately allowed her hair to fall into her face, conveniently hiding her expression before she was ready to face Sherlock once again. An uncomfortable silence descended between them, causing Lindsey to fidget even more in her seat. She absolutely hated awkward silences. But it seemed as though Sherlock hated them too, since he was fidgeting even more in his seat than she was. For some reason, Lindsey found this painfully adorable, causing her heart to swell once again.

"So…" Sherlock began then, his deep voice cutting through her thoughts. "What was the name of the song?"

"Oh," Lindsey replied in a quiet voice again, but then scolded herself for acting so timid. Forcing herself to project a bit more, she answered his question. "_My Heart Will Go On_ by Celine Dion."

When Sherlock stared back at her with a blank expression, Lindsey giggled. "It's from the movie _Titanic_."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders with indifference. "Never heard of it."

"Really?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"But it's a classic!" Lindsey squealed with passion. "It's my favorite movie!"

Sherlock appeared to be staring off into space, seeming to not have heard a word that Lindsey had just uttered. In fact, it was as though he were taking in his surroundings, attempting to deduce even more about her life. His sea-foam eyes moved at the speed of light and it unnerved her so much that she completely forgot what she had been talking about moments ago. Lindsey finally gained the nerve to move from the piano bench and sit herself down in the chair opposite to Sherlock, in front of the fireplace where a fire should have been.

It was then that Lindsey suddenly became very self-conscious of all of the items in her living room. Even though there was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, she somehow still felt insecure around those prying eyes. But really, so what if he disliked her pictures of ballerinas, her pink and purple couch pillows, or her _Willow Tree _statues? But for reasons she couldn't explain, his opinion still mattered.

Then she suddenly remembered that Sherlock was not meant to be there - that he had somehow broken into her flat and had yet to explain the how and the why.

"Sherlock?" Lindsey ventured to ask.

"Hmm?" was his half-hearted response.

"What…what are you doing here? Exactly?" she decided to be completely forward, already used to Sherlock's impatience for small talk. His desire to always get right to the point correlated very well with his energetic personality.

"Oh…well…"

All of a sudden, Sherlock seemed speechless and Lindsey was completely and utterly shocked. His large hands were clasped tightly in his lap and Lindsey noticed that his fists were being squeezed and unsqueezed continuously for several minutes. Was this a nervous habit of his? It must have been. How could Sherlock Holmes have a nervous habit? How could the man even be nervous?

Lindsey decided to wait patiently for Sherlock to respond, not actually caring how long it would take him to do so. In fact, she found his mannerisms intriguing to watch. When he was doing his rapid-fire deductions, Sherlock's eyes would vibrate back and forth as quickly as his mouth would move. But now, they were eerily still, staring off into an oblivion she could never ever reach with him.

"Sherlock?" Lindsey uttered carefully and gently, as a way to encourage him. It was also a way to bring him back to the present.

"I…uh…well I…wanted to apologize for earlier," Sherlock mumbled in his deep, intoxicating voice.

"Apologize?"

"Yes," he replied.

"How did you know that I was upset?" Lindsey knew it was a strange question to ask under normal circumstances. She had always been an open book when it came to emotions, and she had clearly shown her despair in front of him. But this was Sherlock they were talking about.

Strangely enough, Sherlock actually looked a bit embarrassed. "I didn't actually. But Lestrade called me and said that you looked sad after returning to the office. He told me he knew that I had something to do with it and demanded that I apologize."

"Oh…well…I'll have to thank Greg then."

Sherlock made a scrunched-up face then, which caused Lindsey to giggle.

"What?" she decided to ask, a huge, dorky grin plastered on her face now.

"I just hate the fact that Lestrade can tell me what to do."

At that, Lindsey's heart sank a little. So this was the real reason Sherlock was apologizing: not because he felt guilty for hurting her, not because he felt empathy. It was because Greg had ordered him to and probably threatened to ban him from the next case otherwise. Without meaning to, Lindsey allowed a sigh of despair to escape past her lips and instantly regretted it when Sherlock's eyes locked with hers immediately.

"What?" he asked bluntly.

Lindsey wanted so badly to say something, to ask him so many questions, to try to understand what was going on in that funny old head. She wanted to tell him why she had sighed, why he made her so upset. But her lips just wouldn't do what her brain was ordering her to do.

"Nothing…" she whispered simply, her head hanging low.

Sherlock seemed satisfied with this answer because he didn't push her to tell the truth. A part of Lindsey wished he would. Any other person would have noticed her false answer, and it seemed as though he should have been able to, what with his deductive skills. Maybe he did notice, but he simply didn't care? Or maybe he did care but just didn't know how to ask? Maybe he couldn't detect human emotions in others easily?

It was then that his foot began to vibrate while he remained in his chair and Lindsey just knew that he was itching to get up and leave. She couldn't help but chuckle in spite of herself and began speaking to him like a mother would to an impatient child.

"All right, Sherlock," she signed in an exaggerated manner. "I know you want to leave so badly. Go ahead."

"Oh thank God," Sherlock exclaimed excitedly, jumping up from his chair. She solemnly watched him as he approached the door.

"Sherlock?"

He turned back around towards her, his eyes staring intently back.

"Thank you for your apology."

He simply shrugged before opening the door and disappearing behind it. "It's the least I could do."


	7. In Need of a New Partner

**Here's a relatively short update! I feel like, from this point on, I tend to be less wordy. Also, please let me know if I get anything inaccurate. I am not a forensics expert at all. :)**

**But my goodness, who else is blown away by the announcement of Benedict's engagement? I'm so happy for him! He's finally going to have the family he's always wanted! :)**

**A huge thank you to SuperWhoLockian706 for your sweet review! And thank you to the following people for following and favoriting! **

**New follows: ClanaFan01, InkFairy, SuperWhoLockian706, and shangrilalaland **

**New favorites: ClanaFan01, Princess Meria, SuperWhoLockian706, and shangrilalaland **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

The next morning, Lindsey could honestly say she was shocked speechless when she found Sherlock sitting at her desk, scrolling through his email on her computer.

"Sherlock!" Lindsey exclaimed. Most people would have jumped out of their skin at the sound of their name, but Sherlock remained motionless, as if he hadn't heard her at all. His eyebrows were furrowed when staring at the screen, as if he'd completely blocked out the world around him.

"Sherlock," she repeated, more gently this time, and this was what roused Sherlock out of his trance. His mesmerizing eyes found hers and it took everything inside of her not to squeal or sigh. Blushing, however, was hopelessly beyond her control and she sincerely hoped that, for once, those overly observant eyes managed not to pick up on that.

"What…what are you doing?"

"Have you never seen an email account before?" he replied sarcastically with a dramatic eye roll.

"No…I mean…what are you doing at my desk…using my computer…how did you even get into it?" Lindsey seemed to ask a million questions in succession, her words coming out more like breathless whispers.

"I needed to check my email…your password was incredibly easy to guess based on my previous deductions about you…" Sherlock began to answer, likewise in succession.

"Oh…"

"And…I…" Sherlock paused for a moment, his eyes actually straying away from her and looking downwards towards his lap to cause his messy curls to fall into his face. Lindsey's eyes followed until she saw, with intrigue, that Sherlock's hands were clenched tightly into fists. Was he nervous again? But why on earth for?

"Sherlock?" Lindsey ventured to ask carefully. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly all right. Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock answered in a huff, annoyed by her motherly question.

"Okay, okay," Lindsey said gently. "But was there something else you wanted to ask me?"

"Yeah, I…uh…I" Sherlock stammered and Lindsey couldn't help but think how adorable that was. "I was wondering…if you could help me…with the case today…you know…like a…partner…"

If Lindsey were to describe her reaction in that moment as shocked, that would have been a gross understatement. Sherlock stood up from the chair then, standing nearly seven inches above her. His breathtaking eyes bored into her again, and she was absolutely amazed that he would actually focus that much of his attention on her. In fact, he had focused a lot of his attention on her already; the moment at the crime scene instantly came to mind, when he had captured her gaze in the middle of his intense deduction.

Was he absolutely serious, or playing a cruel trick on her? Did Sherlock actually want her to be his partner? Did he want her to be his new John Watson? But why her? Why not someone else at the Yard, someone far more experienced than she was? Sure, she was almost done and was very nearly about to earn her degree, but that only meant that she understood the theory well enough. That hardly presented her with the authority to do crime work in the real world completely on her own.

Her initial reaction would have been an immediate, excited acceptance. The prospect of working with Sherlock, as a partner, as close as John Watson had been, was a thrilling idea to no end. But then, Lindsey took a step back and pondered a moment. She was hired, after all, to be a forensics intern, not to be Sherlock's new crime-fighting partner. What if they both got into serious trouble? Sherlock probably wouldn't care all that much; he could easily find work with his reputation. Lindsey, on the other hand, was at the stage where her career was burgeoning, and she couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

Sherlock's eyes never left hers the entire time they stood there and Lindsey had absolutely no idea how long that time was.

"Sherlock," Lindsey began hesitantly. "I…I just…I mean I would love to…but…"

As soon as she'd uttered the word 'but,' she swore she saw Sherlock's shoulders slump and his eyes fell to the floor. The hard lines in his face softened before her eyes and the transformation absolutely amazed her.

"Oh…well…all right then…"

Lindsey wanted to die in that moment. She'd never seen anyone look that way before and it broke her heart. Sherlock already started to turn away, walking in the opposite direction of the cubicle when something deep inside Lindsey caused her to cry out. No one in their right mind would allow someone to walk away like that.

"Sherlock, wait," Lindsey said, grabbing hold of his large hand in order to stop him. It was successful, but Sherlock didn't turn back to face her. This was fortunate, since an enormous blush erupted on Lindsey's cheeks when their hands touched. She could feel the calluses and the burns, probably from years of experimentation.

"Let me ask Greg what he thinks," Lindsey suggested gently, pleading with her eyes into the back of his head for him to just turn back around. "He knows you don't have a steady partner anymore. Maybe he'll understand. But will you come with me?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered in that deep voice that never failed to send shivers up and down her spine. "I'll probably have a more convincing argument anyway."

Lindsey surprised herself when she managed to brush off that insult, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Sherlock and Lindsey walked up towards the DI's office and Lindsey was about to gently knock on the door. However, Sherlock simply pushed on through, frightening Greg so much that he knocked over his cup of coffee.

"Damn it, Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed angrily and Lindsey instantly felt regret, since this had been her idea after all. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock?"

"We need to speak with you, Lestrade. It's urgent," Sherlock got right to the point, oblivious to the literal mess he'd just helped create.

Greg was attempting to mop up the spilled coffee with a pitiful piece of napkin, but Sherlock's words made him look up, not with annoyance, but genuine curiosity.

"We?"

"Yes, Lindsey and I."

"So Sherlock apologized to you properly, just like I asked him to?" Greg asked, turning his attention and quizzical brow instead in her direction.

"Yes sir, he did," Lindsey answered.

"And did you accept it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, all right then," Greg huffed, apparently satisfied enough with Sherlock's behavior. "Now what was it that you wanted to speak with me about?"

"As you are well-aware, John is no longer in the picture," Sherlock stated plainly, his voice apparently devoid of emotion. And yet, Lindsey couldn't help but detect a change in his voice, even it was very subtle. A part of her wanted to scold herself for reading too much into human behavior. After all, Sherlock could be perfectly fine. But, at the same time, Lindsey couldn't help but sense that mixture of bitterness, regret, and loneliness that defined Sherlock's feelings towards John and his new married life.

"Yes, I'm well aware, Sherlock. You constantly remind me with your complaints every day," Greg sighed in exasperation.

"Despite John's new focus in life, mine has not altered. My focus is still very much on the work. Which means that…I am in need of a new partner."

Greg's eyes widened instantly, and Lindsey knew that he knew what Sherlock was about to ask. He looked back and forth between the two of them, and all the while, Lindsey's stomach began to do somersaults. Why did she let Sherlock convince her to ask? Now she was going to lose her internship and all of her hard work would be for nothing.

After several moments of seemingly endless silence, Greg finally opened his mouth. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Perfectly serious," Sherlock said. "Why would this be some kind of a joke?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I just hired Lindsey as my new intern!"

"I'm so sorry, sir!" Lindsey suddenly exclaimed, tears threatening to form in her auburn eyes. "I'm so sorry! I don't want to give up my internship! I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"It's all right, Lindsey," Greg responded gently. "I'm not angry with you. I'm well aware of the fact that Sherlock can be quite the manipulator."

"Manipulator?" Sherlock said, taken aback. "I did not manipulate Lindsey! She was interested in the idea and wanted to ask you!"

"All right, look," Greg said calmly, running a hand over his face. "I can't really let you go off and help Sherlock when Philip may need you. That's why he requested we hire an intern…to help him with all of the extra work piling up. And we wanted to give you job experience to coincide with your studies at university."

"Yes, of course!" Lindsey answered passionately. "Forensics is my life goal and what I was trained to do. I wouldn't give it up for anything!"

"Okay good," Greg heaved a sigh of relief. "Sorry about this, Sherlock."

But when Lindsey turned around, dreading the look on Sherlock's face, he had already vanished from the office, slamming the door behind him.


	8. You Are Amazing

**Hi everyone! Here is a much longer update! Thank you to everyone who is continuing to read my little story. :) Thank you to those who newly favorited/followed:**

**New follows: Charlock7, ExotikaHollow1379, HipsterSnowWhite, Merdealors, Pebbles Parker, munited17, nachobeats823**

**New favorites: CHSShortie, Charlock7, ExotikaHollow1379, HipsterSnowWhite, Kovy - Closet Romantic, Merdealors, TheEvilGirlX**

**And thank you so much to Merdealors for your wonderful review! When you said that you could imagine Benedict playing the part in that scene, you made me so happy! That is the ultimate compliment for a writer! **

**This scene involves another deduction. Hope it is all right! Also, just FYI to those of you who don't play the violin. When Sherlock mentions a mark on the neck, he's referring to the "violin hickey," a mark that is caused by the violin rubbing against the neck. It's funny though because Sherlock doesn't actually have one himself (we all know Benedict doesn't actually play the violin), but let's all just ignore that little fact. :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

Lindsey never thought she'd see the day when she would have to be the one to apologize to Sherlock. Their roles had been almost exactly reversed; the only difference was that Lindsey didn't need someone to tell her to do it. It was the enormous guilt weighing upon her heart that was enough to take her on the Underground to Baker Street station. Meanwhile, on the short train ride over, Lindsey attempted to practice exactly what she was going to say to Sherlock. It all seemed perfectly all right in her head. The words seemed to magically come out of somewhere deep inside her mind. The only problem was actually having the courage to say them out loud.

When she finally reached the front of 221B, Lindsey's courage dissipated into nothing just as she had predicted on the train. Her eyes traveled upwards towards the second floor window, where shades were drawn to shroud the peculiar detective in further darkness and mystery. Then, all of a sudden, Lindsey's ears picked up on a slow, melancholy sound. From many years of experience in her high school orchestra, she knew instantly that it was the sound of a violin…Sherlock's violin. She knew of this tidbit of trivia from John's blog, but she had never imagined she'd ever have the chance to actually hear it in person. But instead of being thrilled at hearing the beautiful music, Lindsey felt a wave of sadness flow through her.

She couldn't do this. How on earth could she face him now? But if she turned away, let the matter slide, Lindsey knew she couldn't live with herself. But was it because of the guilt of turning down Sherlock's request? Or because she knew she wouldn't be able to stand the fact that she had refused the opportunity to get closer to him? Her exact feelings for Sherlock were still cloudy in her mind; she couldn't possibly be able to describe them accurately. But Lindsey knew there was something there; otherwise he wouldn't have had such a drastic effect on her being. Tears sprung into her eyes again.

"Damn it," she uttered, swiping them away with the back of her hand. "How are you going to talk to him now?"

But before she could turn around and walk back towards the Tube station, Lindsey was greeted by a friendly, elderly face. The older woman opened the door to 221B, her purse in hand, as if she was ready to go out shopping.

"Oh hello, dear," the lady responded cheerfully. "How can I help you?"

"Oh…umm…" Lindsey stuttered, completely unprepared for this turn of events. "I…I was just…"

"Oh, silly me, you must be a client for Sherlock!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Please, come in!"

"Oh, that's okay. I can talk to Sherlock another time…"

"Nonsense," the old lady insisted, waving her hand almost manically for Lindsey to step over the threshold. "Sherlock's just playing. I'm sure he won't mind you coming in with an interesting case for that silly old head of his!"

"Well, actually, I'm not a client," Lindsey said, stepping inside to the foyer of the flat. "My name is Lindsey Conrad. I am a new intern at Scotland Yard."

"Oh!" the lady exclaimed excitedly, extending her hand out. "How lovely to meet you, Lindsey! I'm Mrs. Hudson."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hudson," Lindsey replied, shaking Mrs. Hudson's hand. "How do you know Sherlock?"

"I'm the landlady of 221 Baker Street," Mrs. Hudson explained. "But not his housekeeper, mind you!"

Lindsey giggled at that, deciding in that moment that she liked Mrs. Hudson very much. She reminded her of her grandmother who, unfortunately, had passed away about two years ago. Lindsey missed her grandmother very much, so the idea of having an older woman to guide her in a similar way was a comforting thought. Then again, why on earth would she have any more reason to come back to Baker Street, after apologizing to Sherlock and watching as he severed the ties of their relationship? With that depressing thought, Lindsey's mood sunk low once more.

Speak of the devil, Lindsey suddenly heard Sherlock's deep voice vibrate from the top of the stairs. She spun around in that direction, to find him at the closest landing. He was still dressed in his black slacks and red button-down shirt, but instead of his suit jacket, he was wearing a deep red dressing gown. A part of Lindsey was delighted to see him, while the other part dreaded every aspect of this moment. It didn't help that Sherlock's voice, though always deep, seemed to have an air of coldness and that made every single part of her body tremble in fear.

Lindsey wanted to close her eyes and wish this all away. She should have just taken the easy way out and avoided this confrontation in the first place. But she knew that she would never be able to forgive herself, especially when she'd probably have to see Sherlock almost every day at the office or a murder scene. If Lindsey was capable of avoiding him completely, this whole ordeal would blow over in a matter of weeks. But the constant interaction between them, even if that interaction only involved staring at each other, would be unbearable unless she did something now.

"What are you doing here, Lindsey?"

"Oh…" Lindsey stammered. She inwardly cringed as she heard how high and squeaky her voice was as it escaped her lips. "I…I was just…"

"Sherlock! Be polite!" Mrs. Hudson scolded in a very mothering, nagging tone. "Don't be rude to this sweet, young girl."

In a very Sherlockian manner, Sherlock completely ignored Mrs. Hudson's comment. Instead his eyes were transfixed intently on Lindsey, causing Lindsey to scratch the palm of her hand in anxiety. Never before had she ever met a man with such an intense stare as Sherlock's. No wonder he was a detective. Not only was he capable of uninterrupted and focused concentration, but he could definitely intimidate suspects if he really wanted to.

"Come upstairs," he stated plainly before turning on the landing to head back upstairs himself. Lindsey nervously altered her gaze between where Sherlock had stood moments ago and Mrs. Hudson's kind, sympathetic expression. Being Sherlock's landlady, she must have known how difficult it is to deal with him. But even that could not ease the sickening feeling in Lindsey's stomach. As she slowly made her way up the steps, her feet felt as though they weighed of lead. All the while, her heart hammered inside her chest and her breaths came out in wheezy gasps.

The last time Lindsey was this nervous, she had been about to take A-level exams. Not even her first day at the internship had been this frightening. But all of the symptoms were there, rushing back to her like a wave of terrifying memories; they were the symptoms of an anxiety attack. The only thing keeping her going was the fear of making Sherlock angrier waiting for her to come inside the flat.

Lindsey finally made it to the last step and across the threshold into 221B Baker Street. Sherlock closed the door abruptly behind her, making her jump slightly in her agitated state. Meanwhile, her eyes took in the site before her; she saw hundreds of little knickknacks scattered all over the flat from a peculiar skull on the mantelpiece to a Cluedo board tacked to the wall. Each wall of the living room had a different wallpaper pattern adorning it, but one in particular caught her eye. That was probably because, in the upper left-hand corner, there was a large, spray-painted smiley face. Lindsey cocked her head curiously to the side, trying to decide if that smiley face was actually part of the original pattern. When she decided that it was not, she smiled to herself with the realization that Sherlock must have painted it there himself. It was really true; he was the most adorable human being on the planet.

It took Lindsey a moment to realize that Sherlock was now seated in his black armchair, waiting impatiently for her to sit in the one opposite. His long, slender fingers drummed against the armrests, and his eyes were closed as he huffed out large puffs of air. Lindsey quickly took her seat opposite and as soon as she did, Sherlock opened his eyes once more and fixated his attention on her once again.

"So…" he began mysteriously, his hands forming a steeple position in front of his face. "You never answered my question."

For a moment, Lindsey was puzzled as to what he was referring to. Her face reflected exactly what she was feeling, but Sherlock clarified before she even had the chance to voice her confusion.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh…right…" Lindsey cringed again as the stammer returned, and she herself had to close her eyes and clench her fists to regain her composure and rediscover her courage. But how on earth was she supposed to do that with him staring at her like that? "Well…Sherlock…I…uh…I wanted to…"

"Wanted to what?"

"Apologize…to you…"

"Apologize?"

"Yes," Lindsey answered, forcing herself to look Sherlock straight in his eyes, no matter how much it unnerved her senses. "You know…for what happened earlier."

The same look of disappointment flashed across Sherlock's eyes; it was the same exact one from hours before and the one that Lindsey had hoped to never see again. But it was over in a matter of seconds, almost like a flash of lightening across the usually barren sky. The façade reemerged on his handsome face, while his eyes vibrated back and forth in his usual observation and deduction mode. Whenever Sherlock did such a thing, Lindsey felt a chill run down her spine but wasn't quite sure exactly why. She'd never felt completely comfortable when people looked at her, but Sherlock's gaze took that to a whole new level of intensity. Feeling compelled to look away, Lindsey found a chess board and playing pieces strewn across the living room floor and decided to focus on that.

"Really, Sherlock, I'm sorry," Lindsey continued on as she stared at the chess pieces. "You've no idea how much I would love to work with you. But I can't be an intern and your partner at the same time."

"Why not?"

That question certainly encouraged Lindsey to retract her focus from the chess pieces and bring it back to Sherlock's face, even if it was just to observe his expression in that moment in time. However, his demeanor had not changed from when she'd last looked up. It was just as focused and observational as ever.

"What?"

"Why couldn't you be both? I could see that as being possible," Sherlock reasoned. "You are an intern during the normal working hours: 9 to 5. But after 5 and on the weekends, you are free to do whatever you wish."

"Yes…" Lindsey began but her head was spinning all the while as she struggled to figure out what to say to him. What he said was absolutely true, but there was just one problem.

"But Sherlock…when I come home from work, that is the time for my brain to rest…to think about things other than crime work. And the weekends are time for me to catch up on bills, spend time with friends…"

Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes. "Friends…" he grumbled. "Friends are a complete waste of time."

"What?" Lindsey asked, completely taken aback by his comment. "But you have so many friends: Molly, Mrs. Hudson, DI Lestrade, and most of all, John."

Lindsey had been right to focus her attention on Sherlock right at that very moment. Perhaps, it was a trick of the light, but she could've sworn she saw his beautiful sea-foam eyes glaze over slightly as he turned his head away from her. Instead he stared off towards the wall containing the decorative wallpaper and smiley face. Lindsey immediately knew what had spurned Sherlock's comment. When John Watson had been mentioned in the office earlier that week, Sherlock had sounded so very bitter, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why that was. To put it simply, Sherlock was feeling lonely. Lindsey would put forth all of her money towards that statement, regardless of the fact that Sherlock would never, not in a million years, openly admit it. John had been his flatmate, partner, and friend for nearly two years before The Fall. The friendship was certainly still there, but now it must have felt incredibly strained. Of course, with his own family to raise, John could no longer be Sherlock's flatmate. And with a toddler to raise and another child on the way, he couldn't frequent murder scenes or tag along on Sherlock's crazy adventures.

As Lindsey observed him for a few moments, her heart began to clench painfully inside her chest and she felt her own eyes glaze over with unshed tears. That's all he wanted: a partner, someone to accompany him on his adventures because he felt lonely. And she had denied him that much.

But she couldn't compromise her future either. She had worked so very hard throughout the school year to obtain the internship, rewriting her resume dozens of times, practicing interview skills whenever she had a free moment, networking with high executives. If she gave it all up for a chance to work with Sherlock, which most likely wouldn't last long anyway, she knew she would never forgive herself.

So then, what harm would it be if she did it as a side thing? At least, for now, that could be the temporary solution.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?" Sherlock answered, turning his face back towards her.

"I think I've decided…I will be your partner," Lindsey stated, and she was actually surprised at how confident her voice sounded. "But it will have to be around work hours. Is that okay? Can we make that compromise?"

"Yes, excellent," Sherlock said, and Lindsey's heart swooned when a small smile tugged on his lips. It was an amazing transformation.

All of a sudden, all of the energy in the world seemed to be sucked inside him and he bolted out of the chair and dashed towards his smiley face wall. It was then that she noticed the hundreds of pieces of paper tacked onto the wall in a certain organizational scheme that was beyond her comprehension. Lindsey decided to follow him towards the wall, her curiosity getting the better of her. Upon reaching the wall and coming within reading distance, she realized that all of the papers were related to different cases he was working on. Some of them were his own notes, scribbled in adorable, messy handwriting. Others were newspaper clippings, photographs, maps, telephone numbers. She was actually surprised at first that Sherlock didn't use strings of thread to connect related documents together, much like she'd seen in old movies. Then again, Lindsey surmised that Sherlock didn't need a visual aid to keep it all straight inside his head.

"Is this all for one case?" Lindsey asked in awe.

"No, I have many cases going on at once," Sherlock explained succinctly. "Most of them are quite trivial, to be honest."

"How so?"

"They are dull, boring, and predictable," he said. "It sometimes takes me less than a minute to resolve those."

"But you still take on those cases?" she continued to wonder. "I thought you were very particular when it came to picking cases. At least that's what John's blog says."

"I used to be," Sherlock agreed with a nod of his head. "But my brother recently cut off his funding for me, so I've been forced to take on any and all cases. No matter how long or short it takes for me to solve them."

He then turned his face away from his wall to look at her, and Lindsey involuntarily felt her heart swoon with how handsome he was. One errant curl fell across his forehead and it took all of her self-control not to brush it away and run her fingers through his curls. But it wasn't just his looks that made Lindsey's heart hurt with how much she felt for him. In the short amount of time since they had met, she felt an emotional connection with him, but it was one she couldn't quite explain properly. He was so much more than the arrogant, cold detective that everyone else saw on the surface. There was a layer hidden deeply underneath his mask, one filled with innocence, endearment, compassion, and love for those he truly cared about. Sure, it was a lot to assume about a person from only a few days of short interactions, but Lindsey never felt more confident in her presumptions. She supposed it was like her sixth sense.

"What is it?" Sherlock decided to ask them, raising one curious eyebrow at her. Even though Lindsey couldn't see what she looked like at the moment, she could imagine it was something akin to the appearance of a lovesick schoolgirl with a silly little crush. Blushing furiously, she quickly turned away from him, hoping he wasn't able to pick up on her strange behavior. To try to cover up her mistake, she decided to answer his question.

"You are amazing."

When she turned back around, all of the hard lines in his face had softened slightly and his eyes seemed to have a glow inside them that she'd never seen before.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Lindsey said determinedly. "No one else can do what you do and what you do is amazing."

Most people, especially John Watson, would tell Lindsey there was no need to boost Sherlock's already massive ego. But for some unexplained reason, she seemed to sense that he did need an ego boost, even if his façade appeared so very arrogant and pompous. It had to do with that inner layer inside him, the one that shrouded all of his sensitivity, caring, and vulnerability. When Sherlock smiled shyly, unable to look at her straight in the face, she knew that her guesses were validated with every passing minute.

"Make a deduction about me," Lindsey suddenly blurted out of the blue.

Sherlock looked up. "I'm sorry?"

"Make a deduction about me," she repeated. "I know you enjoy doing it and I am a subject standing here in front of you, waiting to be analyzed by that massive brain of yours."

The shy, almost timid smile was quickly replaced by an arrogant smirk. For some reason, though, this delighted Lindsey and she smiled and laughed heartily. The one emotion he didn't try to hide was his pleasure in hearing her never-ending compliments.

"I've already made several deductions about you, Lindsey," Sherlock went on to say, moving away from the wall towards the middle of the room. "You are quite the open book."

"Really?" Lindsey replied, following him towards the middle and in the path of the sunlight streaming through the curtains. "Could you show me?"

"You are originally from the States," Sherlock began and Lindsey held her breath in anticipation. "To the everyday observer, you would appear to be quite British based on your accent. But I can still hear a hint of American when you say certain words. It was particularly obvious when we were speaking with Lestrade earlier today. You said _anything_ with a distinctly American accent. Based on the severity of the change to the British accent, my guess would be that you moved here around ten years ago."

Lindsey didn't know how on earth she was supposed to respond to that. Every word he uttered was nothing but the truth.

"The first day we met, I also deduced that you were a musician, based on the calluses on your fingers. Those kinds of calluses don't come from playing the piano, which I now know that you do, but from playing a string instrument. My initial guess was a violin, but now I see that you do not have the mark on your neck. So…it must be a guitar or harp. But based on your taste in music, I would assume a guitar. Have I gotten anything wrong yet?"

"No…" Lindsey uttered in complete and utter awe, her dark eyes wide with wonder. "You've gotten everything correct so far."

"You also have a tiny white dog, as can be seen by the thin white hairs that stand out against your black trousers. Could be a cat, but a cat is never friendly enough to jump up that high on your body. Moreover, I was able to determine the size of the dog from the size of the bed in the corner of your kitchen.

"And finally, you love to dance. You have been dancing for much of your life because it affects the way you walk. Your footsteps are much lighter than that of a normal person of your height and weight and you tend to walk toe first instead of heel. And your legs appear to be quite strong and flexible; certain muscles in your legs are toned in a way that suggest you have to hold up your legs for a long period of time in certain positions. Those muscles would not be as strong if you were doing, say, cycling. Your musical taste also leads me to believe that you prefer lyrical over hip-hop or ballet. You enjoy the careful precision and focus that ballet demands, but you also desire to convey certain emotions when you dance, which ballet severely limits. So then, lyrical it is…"

Surprisingly, by this point in time, Lindsey was no longer struck by awe and amazement. By this point in time, she knew that Sherlock was going to hit the hammer right on the nail with regard to her entire life story. She just enjoyed watching him while he spouted out the observations, picking up on his adorable little quirks. She was already well aware of the fact that Sherlock tended to vibrate his eyes back and forth rapidly when he was deep in one of his deductions. But this time, she was able to pick up on a slight lisp, which made her heart swell with endearment.

Lindsey looked up at Sherlock, the sweetest of smiles gracing her lips just for him. Sherlock looked slightly taken aback at this, almost as if he'd never seen such a smile on a person's face before.

"Nearly there," Lindsey said, suddenly looking back down in embarrassment as she felt her cheeks grow pink. "Except I actually _do_ have a cat."

"Damn it!" Sherlock cried out, which in turn, made Lindsey burst into sweet giggles. "There's always something."

"But don't worry, you are still amazing, Sherlock," Lindsey gushed then, looking back up into his mesmerizing eyes.

"Yes I know," he answered stuffily. "I don't need to be reminded of that."

"That might be true," Lindsey began then slowly, her eyes almost lost in a trance inside his lovely orbs. "But sometimes, the people who appear to be the most confident are actually the ones who need to hear those compliments the most. They are the ones who need to be constantly reassured of their worth."

Sherlock gazed back at Lindsey just as intensely, and she watched as his eyes actually remained still in that moment in time. Being lost in Sherlock's eyes was like drowning in an ocean of bliss. It seemed like a beautiful, endless eternity to her, standing there in the middle of 221B in a world filled with just her and Sherlock. Her eyes absorbed every detail, every bone, every crease, and every scar of his handsome face, and the way his dark curly hair framed his features perfectly…it all culminated in the unique and breathtaking man before her. Before she even knew what she was doing, her hand slowly came up and her palm rested against his cheek.

At first, Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise and Lindsey almost pulled away out of fear that she was embarrassing him. But then his eyes closed for several moments, which only encouraged her to continue her gentle caress. Her thumb moved gently across his sharp cheekbone, back and forth in a comforting motion. And yet, Lindsey would never be able to explain what strange and bizarre feeling overcame her and pushed her to be so forward. As the moments passed, her heart became bolder and it almost drove her to plant a kiss on that same cheek. But fate would not be so kind.

"Oh! I'm sorry, dears."

Sherlock's eyes opened wide and he turned his head in the direction of the door and Mrs. Hudson's voice and also, to Lindsey's dismay, out of the cup of her hand. She slowly lowered her arm, allowing disappointment to wash over her like a tidal wave. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that his cheeks had turned a slight shade of pink in embarrassment.

"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked, his tone turning cold and abrupt.

"I wanted to ask if either of you would like some tea," she replied heartily, dashing into the kitchen to gather the necessary supplies. "I know it's much too late for tea time, but my mother used to say…it's always tea time!"

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson," Lindsey answered with a smile.

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock muttered under his breath. Both he and Lindsey remained there awkwardly in the middle of the living room, and Lindsey wasn't sure how to appease the situation. She turned her head in the direction of the window, watching the sunset stream through the windows and cascade the rays across the carpeted floor. If only she could read minds, Lindsey thought in that moment. If she possessed that impossible ability, then life would be so much easier. She would be able to understand how thought processes worked for men, and no longer waste endless hours trying to analyze facial expressions and gestures that could actually mean absolutely nothing. Men really were such strange, enigmatic creatures that no woman could hope to understand. And Sherlock certainly was the strangest of them all.

In that moment of uncomfortable silence, as Lindsey continued to shift her feet awkwardly, Sherlock finally cleared his throat.

"Yes…um…good," he said uneasily, squeezing his fists once more. "I suppose we should…meet up tomorrow regarding the case?"

"Yes," Lindsey replied, immediately reaching for her bag that was still on the chair. "Yes…the case…the suture one?"

Sherlock nodded. "I plan to go and question the suture expert with whom Elaine Parker contacted a few hours before her death. He might give us some answers as to why she was murdered."

"Sounds like a good plan," Lindsey agreed. "When and where should we meet?"

"I suppose here is as good a place as any. Let's say 10 o'clock?"

"Perfect. I'll be here 10 a.m. sharp."

"Good," Sherlock stated simply, before turning around, picking up his violin, and resuming his playing from before. Lindsey took this as a cue to take her leave, but as she stood there with her bag on her shoulder, she watched Sherlock for a moment. She realized, with a heavy heart, that they had parted on extremely business-like terms. Would their relationship always be like this? Or could it turn into a friendship one day? As Lindsey exited 221B Baker Street, her heart desperately wanted to believe that anything was possible.


	9. Roughed Up a Bit

**Here's another short one. Sorry the chapter lengths are not consistent. I like to end the chapters when scenes logically end in my mind.**

**Have a great weekend! **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

The following day, which was a Saturday, Lindsey knocked gingerly on the front door of Sherlock's flat. She could barely sleep a wink the night before, especially when her heart was beating so rapidly and anxiously as she awaited the day she would spend with him. When she heard his deep voice welcoming her inside, the palpitations returned and she felt her hands become sweaty in her nervousness. Just before she opened the door, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out deeply. It was a common exercise she practiced during moments like this, especially when she'd been in school and was facing a dreaded final exam. In a way, however, this was even more nerve-wracking for Lindsey. At least with an exam, she could have some idea what to expect.

She was certainly correct in expecting the unexpected with Sherlock. John's blog had mentioned this numerous times in his case write-ups. But when she entered the flat and saw him bending over his violin case in his thin, white button-down shirt, the gasp of horror that escaped her lips shook her to her very core.

"Oh my God, Sherlock!"

Sherlock spun around in surprise. "What?"

"What happened to you?"

His dark eyebrows narrowed adorably in confusion. "What happened to me? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Oh God," Lindsey said, her voice steadily trembling and her eyes threatening to open the floodgates. She slowly crossed the room towards him, watching his curious expression turn even more confused as the minutes passed. "Oh Sherlock…"

"What? What is it?" Sherlock pressed on impatiently, his voice demanding an explanation to her strange behavior.

"The scars…on your back…" Lindsey was barely able to whisper, turning around him to look more closely at the atrocious remnants of past wounds. At this point, a single tear had leaked down her cheek, but she was too preoccupied with the horror in front of her that she didn't bother to wipe it away. She allowed it to stain her face, even if Sherlock would most certainly notice it. For once, she wanted him to see her emotion, especially because it had to do directly with her caring and compassion for him.

"The scars on my…oh…" Sherlock finally realized what she was talking about and subconsciously straightened his back as if that would make any difference. But now, both he and Lindsey knew that he couldn't hide this from her prying eyes any longer. "It's nothing…"

"It's not nothing!" Lindsey exclaimed passionately. It was then that she extended her hand towards the thin fabric, and upon touching it, immediately felt the raised skin against her fingertips. Another tear escaped her weak defenses as she began to imagine all possible scenarios that would explain the origin of the scars. But her mind started formulating very dark images and if she didn't stop soon, then she might lose her breath and her consciousness. "What happened to you?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Just a rather unlucky encounter in Serbia."

"Was this during your two years away? When you were taking down Moriarty's network?"

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle," Sherlock explained. "It was something that had to be done and couldn't be prevented."

"But these wounds; they don't look like they came from random fighting. They look deliberately inflicted upon you," Lindsey gulped as she began to realize what she was insinuating. "Were you…oh Sherlock…were you…tortured?"

"How about let's call it, 'roughed up a bit'?"

Lindsey let out a short, sad laugh among her sniffles, but Sherlock's attempt at lightening the mood could not erase from her mind what actually happened. Every time she tried to close her eyes, she found that it was physically impossible to prevent the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. It had been so very long since she'd cried this hard and she absolutely hated the feeling.

But before her overly imaginative mind could conjure up terrifying images, of Sherlock being strung up in chains in a darkened cell, the man himself pulled her away from her dark thoughts with his deep, soothing voice.

"Why are you crying?"

Lindsey gazed up at him in wonder, just as he turned around to face her. "How could you not know why?" she decided to ask him.

"Because of this?" he questioned in a thoroughly perplexed tone. "This is a rather silly thing to be upset about. This particular event happened over a year ago. It bears no importance on future events, particularly not on the case at hand."

Lindsey wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. "That may be true," she began with a sniffle. "But it bears importance on my present state of mind."

"Well, then don't let it," Sherlock huffed in impatience, walking towards his desk to retrieve his phone. "I need your full attention on the matter at hand."

"Yes…I'm sorry," Lindsey said, her head hanging low in shame. Then a new thought emerged in her head and enticed her to say these new words. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this."

That was enough to pull Sherlock's attention away from his phone. He looked up at her with another curious expression of uncertainty and wonder. "What?"

"Maybe I'm not the right person to be your partner," she whispered timidly, shifting on the balls of her feet. "I annoy you every other minute."

"You are a bit too emotional for my taste, that is true," he agreed. "You seem to cry at every opportunity that we meet."

"Then why did you want me to be your partner?"

When her question was met by a strange, impenetrable silence, Lindsey looked up to find that Sherlock was no longer looking at her. In fact, he was holding his hands up in front of his face as she had seen him do on various occasions in the past. Only this time he was actively pacing around the room, closing his eyes in intense concentration. Lindsey assumed that he hadn't heard her question at all, but was onto the next thought in his mind. But he surprised her when he opened his eyes once again, and looked at her. The creases of focus on his face softened slightly as he looked upon her, making Lindsey's broken heart involuntarily swoon. A strange euphoric feeling overcame her in those short, few seconds that threatened to completely consume her.

But Sherlock's next words were far from being able to provide a satisfactory answer to her question.

"We ought to get moving on the case. We don't want to fall behind in catching this murderer."


	10. An Urgent Matter

**Another short update! Thank you to the new people who have followed and favorited.**

**New follows: AstralLaine, FabFiction15, HarryPotterFrek, Less than Hero, kruble**

**New favorites: FabFiction15**

**Also thank you to shika93 for your reviews on the first two chapters! And thank you to Misa-chama for your review of Chapter 8 and pointing out the formatting error. It has been fixed! I hope I continue to avoid OoC-ness, especially with Sherlock! It's quite challenging to write him. **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

"I am here to see Dr. Mayfield," Sherlock said as he and Lindsey approached the front desk at a small doctor's office in central London.

"Do you have an appointment, sir?" the kind-looking nurse behind the desk asked in response.

"No, but it is an urgent matter. A police matter, that is."

"Police matter?"

"Yes," Sherlock began. "Dr. Mayfield has a connection with someone who was found murdered a few days ago. I need to speak with him immediately."

A momentary expression of horror crossed the nurse's face as she glanced quickly between Sherlock and Lindsey. It was then that Lindsey realized the implication of Sherlock's words. Ironically, Lindsey actually had to suppress the urge to laugh, knowing that Sherlock had been completely clueless at the time he'd said the words.

"Yes, of course, sir. I will fetch him right away," the flustered nurse said as soon as the professionalism returned to her face. "Could I please get your name?"

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."

"If you'll wait here, Mr. Holmes, it will only be a moment."

"Thank you," Sherlock said before straightening his back and looking around the waiting room. Lindsey followed his example and observed, in particular, the little children playing with an array of wooden blocks. Her eyes always seemed to naturally focus on the children in a room full of people, and she knew it was because of her motherly instincts. Lindsey was incredibly fond of children and hoped that, one day, she would be able to call some her very own. Smiling affectionately at a boy, no more than four years old, Lindsey could feel her heart swell with adoration as she watched him stacking the blocks, knocking them down, and giggling sweetly.

Then, for some reason, Lindsey decided to look up at Sherlock and saw, with unexpected surprise, that he was also smiling softly at the boy. However, when Sherlock noticed that she was looking at him, he quickly turned away and his mouth became a stoic, hard line once again. This time, Lindsey's smile was for him.

"You do realize that you made the nurse think that Dr. Mayfield was responsible for Elaine Parker's murder, don't you?"

"Did I?" Sherlock said innocently. And Lindsey somehow knew that this was genuine innocence.

Lindsey giggled sweetly. "Yes, Sherlock. Did you not see the look on her face?"

"I thought she was simply reacting to the news that there was a murder in the first place. How did I imply that Dr. Mayfield was the murderer?"

"Never mind," Lindsey said, shaking her head in fake exasperation, and Sherlock just looked at her a moment with an adorable, confused look on his face. It was then that Dr. Mayfield appeared in the waiting room and Sherlock immediately strode up to him and shook his hand.

"Mr. Holmes, I understand you needed to speak with me regarding a police matter. Is this in connection with Elaine Parker?" Dr. Mayfield said.

"So the news has been published, has it?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I was horrified to hear of it. But let's discuss this in my office so as not to frighten my patients."

Sherlock and Lindsey followed Dr. Mayfield into the interior part of the facility, past examination rooms with various pieces of equipment. They eventually reached what must have been Dr. Mayfield's personal office, because there was a desk inside with two chairs in front of it. Dr. Mayfield went around to the other side, while she and Sherlock sat down in those two chairs. There wasn't much decorating the office walls, other than a few degrees from various universities. However, Lindsey wasn't given much time to take in her surroundings anyway, since Sherlock began to speak as soon as he sat down.

"Dr. Mayfield, as I understand it, you were the last person Elaine Parker contacted before she was killed. Could you tell me what you discussed with her?"

"Yes, well, you see…in addition to being a physician, I am also an expert on sutures."

"I am aware of that, yes."

"Yes, of course you are. I should've known who I was talking to," Dr. Mayfield replied with a smirk and Lindsey bit her lip to keep from giggling again.

"Elaine Parker called me around 2 o'clock, about three days ago," Dr. Mayfield continued, leaning back in his chair and staring intently at Sherlock. "She sounded very distressed on the phone. She explained to me that she'd just gotten out of surgery where the patient was receiving a new heart valve. During it, she noticed that a strange kind of suture was being used to sew up the valve. When she explained the texture to me, I guessed it to be dissolving suture."

"And what is dissolving suture?" Sherlock asked. In the meantime, Lindsey was frantically scribbling notes in her composition book.

"Dissolving suture is exactly what it sounds like. It dissolves into the body after a few days once the wound has healed or its use is over."

"And this is a problem because…"

"Because dissolving suture should never be used during heart surgery," Dr. Mayfield explained. "It requires the use of permanent suture. If dissolving suture is used instead, then the valve would separate…and the patient would die."


	11. As Simple As That

**Thank you to the new people who followed and favorited! You've no idea what your support means to me! **

**New follows: 20DreamBig12**

**New favorites: bella cullen the original, poisedrose**

**And thank you again to Misa-chama for your review! Yes, you are correct about the murder case. I recommend watching the _Columbo_ episode _A Stitch in Crime_ from which this case is based. And I really appreciate your comments about my characterization of Sherlock. I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

"I don't understand…" Lindsey said later that day, sitting next to Sherlock in the taxi on the way back from the doctor's office. "How could anyone not notice that the suture was wrong? Dr. Mayfield said that dissolving and permanent were completely different colors."

"Someone must have dyed the dissolving to make it look like the permanent," Sherlock surmised, bringing his hands up into his thinking position. "I'm sure that could be easily done."

"So Elaine Parker must have assisted the surgeon," Lindsey went on. "She felt the suture and realized that the texture didn't' feel right. It didn't feel like permanent suture. That's why she called Dr. Mayfield."

"Exactly," Sherlock said. "But the surgeon found out what she did and killed her for it."

Lindsey gasped. "But surely a doctor wouldn't try to kill someone? They are supposed to save people's lives!"

"Once you've been in this business long enough, you'll realize that anyone is capable of murder."

Lindsey leaned back against the soft cushion of the taxi seat, her mind reeling from all of the information she was trying to absorb. She knew she would have to get used to such gruesome facts, what with her job and working with Sherlock, but it didn't make it any easier. With her head against the seat, Lindsey turned toward the window, admiring the sights of London as they passed on by. It was moments like these when she was reminded of how much she truly loved this city. It was the perfect amalgamation of modern and historical and breathed with a life so unique that it set itself apart from other cities. Her friends back home always gushed about the beauty of Paris. But for Lindsey, it was all about London.

When she turned back, she jumped slightly upon seeing Sherlock staring intently back at her. His eyes bore into her as usual and it unnerved and thrilled her that he was deducing even more about her.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked then, his deep, incredible voice vibrating into the pit of her stomach.

"About how London is the most incredible city in the world," Lindsey gushed.

"It is," Sherlock agreed with a nod of his head. "Nothing can compare."

"Even after seeing the world during your two year absence?"

"Absolutely," Sherlock answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I missed London every day I was away."

A sad, faraway look appeared on Sherlock's face then and it made Lindsey's heart want to shatter. As if on impulse, she placed her hand on top of his on the seat between them. Sherlock looked curiously at their hands before looking back up at her. She continued her gentle caress of this large, rough hand for several minutes and was utterly delighted when he didn't pull away right away. It gave her time to memorize and explore every tiny detail of his skin, gently as she rubbed her thumb across the top.

"Life must have been so difficult for you," she said with immense pity. "Being all alone, getting caught in dangerous situations, living in strange places…"

"Like I said before, it was something that had to be done. I didn't have much choice in the matter," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"I know," Lindsey said, a sudden heaviness washing over her, drowning her like a wave when one is caught in the tide. "But you still did it. You didn't stop to think how difficult it was going to be…how much you would have to give up. You never once thought about yourself. You made so many sacrifices…to protect the people you love."

It seemed like an eternity of silence stretched between them, where Lindsey simply watched Sherlock as his eyes darted every which way – in front of him, to the side window…everywhere except directly at her face. If only she possessed the power to read people's minds. Lindsey had sincerely wished for that power about a year ago, when her last boyfriend had frustrated her so much with his lack of communication. She supposed that she just didn't understand how men's minds worked. While it was so easy for her to express her feelings, almost too easy sometimes, it was so incredibly difficult for them. Sherlock was no exception and might even be one of the extreme examples that it nearly drove her crazy just thinking about it. But her sixth sense was telling her, once again, that a multitude of different feelings were bubbling beneath the surface of Sherlock's seemingly impenetrable mask. If only she could get through to him somehow.

"But going away for so long…facing such danger…being…" Lindsey gulped. "tortured…"

Sherlock swiftly interrupted. "Roughed up a bit."

"Okay, yes, 'roughed up a bit,'" Lindsey corrected, although the change of phrase didn't alleviate the heavy weight on her heart. "Surely, you must have some emotional scars…so…are you truly okay, Sherlock? I mean…after all you've been through…"

Sherlock sighed heavily and dramatically, "You know, I really would rather not talk about this right now."

"But…"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Sherlock, please…"

It was at that very moment that the taxi pulled up right in front of Lindsey's flat and Sherlock actually heaved a sigh of relief at the sight.

"Well, here you are. Home. Good day, Lindsey," Sherlock said in a rush.

"Sherlock…"

"Good day," he uttered again and Lindsey had never heard Sherlock's voice sound so cold and distant as it did in that very moment. Her hand rested on the door handle, ready to click the door open, but her heart wouldn't allow her to. Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched Sherlock pull out his phone, effectively cutting off all current communication with her and signaling to her that it was time for her to leave.

"Please," Lindsey began to beg in a choked whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock sighed. "What do you want me to say to you?"

"I just want to be there for you," she replied earnestly. "I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything."

"I don't need to talk," he answered sternly.

"I feel like you might. You just don't know how."

"We barely know each other."

"That's true," Lindsey said with a sad smile. "But that's what talking is for, isn't it? To know each other better?"

"I need you as my partner, not as my therapist," Sherlock said.

"I know," she answered. "But the offer still stands. I'll always be here for you."

Just as she opened the door to step out, Lindsey felt Sherlock grab her arm to stop her from leaving the taxi completely. She plopped herself down on the seat again and turned around with a curious expression on her face.

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"Saying what?"

"That you'll always be there for me?"

Lindsey smiled at the adorable innocence that Sherlock embodied so utterly perfectly. His thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his beautiful eyes had in them a kind of childlike aura that Lindsey couldn't quite explain. Something beyond Lindsey's control, probably something buried deep inside her heart, suddenly exploded and she found that her hand was reaching up to caress his cheek once again. Then, before she knew what was happening, she was gently pressing her lips to that same cheek. When she pulled away, Lindsey watched as Sherlock's eyes grew wide and she smiled one last smile.

"Because I care about you, Sherlock Holmes. That's why. It's as simple as that."


	12. A Little Mishap

**Hi everyone! Wow, what a great response. I really needed it today because I had a rough interview and your reviews, favorites, and follows really cheered me up! So thank you so much! I hope you all continue to enjoy! **

**Thank you to the new people who followed and favorited:**

**New follows: Katherine966, VegetaXxXInuyasha, Zenraya**

**New favorites: ChibiCheshire, Katherine966, VegetaXxXInuyasha, Writer of the Lost Age, Zenraya **

**And thank you so much to Superwholockian706, VegetaXxXInuyasha, and GoDrinkPinesol624 for your lovely reviews! And, VegetaXxXInuyasha, I am definitely going to read your story whenever it's updated! I'm definitely looking forward to seeing where you take it! **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

Lindsey was now lying in her bed that night, staring up at the ceiling as she mindlessly stroked her cat's ears. For a brief moment, she laughed as she reminded herself of the irony of her cat's name, Midnight – a white cat named after an event that occurs in pitch darkness. She'd always loved irony.

But that thought was swiftly swept off its feet and replaced by all-consuming thoughts of Sherlock. Lindsey still couldn't believe that she had actually been brave enough to kiss Sherlock. Sure, it had been an innocent kiss on the cheek to a regular passerby and probably meant close to nothing for Sherlock himself, but it meant the world to Lindsey. Even if he struggled to express his feelings, she knew that they existed. And the one that continually stood out to her was loneliness. Somehow, Lindsey was determined to show Sherlock that he wasn't alone…that there was someone out there who would take care of him and always be there for him. That kiss was a way to show him that.

A part of Lindsey thought she was trying to win an impossible battle. Sherlock already had people in his life who cared about him: John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Greg, and even his brother, Mycroft. So why would Sherlock let someone else in? It seemed that, on the surface, he would have enough people to support him.

But then again, John had his burgeoning family to raise. Mycroft played a huge role in British governmental affairs and probably didn't have the time to pay attention to every aspect of Sherlock's life. Mrs. Hudson seemed more like a mother to Sherlock than a friend. And Greg and Molly had their own lives to lead…

But then again, didn't she also? Shouldn't she be focusing on her own personal growth…her internship, her friendships, her love life? But for some reason, Lindsey felt as though this strange new goal was a part of her life now; it was all-consuming. With a heavy, sad sigh, Lindsey couldn't help but feel the weight of sorrow overwhelm her once again. Sherlock felt alone and her sixth sense picked up on that instantly. Why did he feel so alone? Had John really completely abandoned him? Were there really any long-lasting impressions from his time away in Serbia and god knows where else? But would he ever admit this, to her, of all people? Or would he keep it all bottled up inside?

When her eyelids slowly began to droop, Lindsey realized that her sorrow was swiftly becoming replaced by exhaustion. It may have been only eight o'clock, but the day had been a trying one between the gruesome murder of the nurse and her uncontrollable rollercoaster of emotions. But just as she was about to welcome blissful sleep, her mobile phone started playing a version of _Pachelbel Canon_ which, at that moment in time, sounded very loud and annoying to her sensitive ears.

She groaned, rubbing her fists in her eyes to wipe away any remnants of sleep. But when Lindsey picked up the phone and noticed the caller ID, her whole body awoke with a jolt of excitement.

"Sherlock?"

"Lindsey?"

The way he sounded, so timid and so unlike Sherlock, sent a chill through her heart. "Sherlock, are you all right? What's wrong?"

There was a moment of pause before Sherlock answered. "I…I…umm…had a little mishap in the flat."

"Oh God, what happened?"

"I sorta sliced my hand open," Sherlock explained, almost sounding embarrassed, if that was at all possible for him. "I was working on some experiments and a beaker shattered in my hand."

"Oh Sherlock," Lindsey cried out in pity for him. "Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes…please…"


	13. I Don't Want to Go to Hospital

**You all are seriously amazing! Your follows, favorites, and reviews really brighten my day!**

**Thank you to:**

**New follows: Samwise221b, Sunshine4545, raajashri**

**New favorites: Samwise22b, raajashri**

**New reviews: Superwholockian706, raajashri. Don't worry, Superwholockian706, here's more and it's longer! :D And thank you, raajashri, for your comments on Lindsey's emotion and the budding relationship!**

**I hope you all continue to enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it! I hope it doesn't seem too slow. I want to build up Sherlock and Lindsey's relationship first before the main, angsty part comes in. I love both angst and fluff and both are in this story and you're getting the fluff before the angst lol. :D**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock _is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

It took nearly twenty minutes on the London Underground for a very agitated and flustered Lindsey to finally make it to the steps of 221 Baker Street. But once she'd knocked on the door and saw Sherlock in the doorway, his right hand grasping hold of his left with a bloody washcloth, all of her frustration melted away into caring and compassion. Not a single word passed between them as Lindsey gently led Sherlock back upstairs, both of her hands instinctively grasping hold of his injured one to staunch the flow of blood. When they finally made it back into the flat, Lindsey almost jumped out of her skin at the sight of the kitchen. The table, sink, and tile floors were all stained in a frightening shade of crimson.

"Oh Sherlock," she moaned with pity, setting him down in his favorite armchair and then kneeling down in front of him. "If you bled this much, the cut must be quite large."

"Yes, I believe I am in need of stitches," Sherlock replied in a timid whisper.

Lindsey gently pulled back the washcloth to reveal the wound, shuttering at how wide it was. The only small comfort was that the blood had indeed stopped flowing. But it didn't diminish the awful fact that Sherlock would, in fact, require stitches since the cut nearly extended across his entire palm. Lindsey could already feel some obnoxious tears pricking at her eyes, but she forcefully shut her eyes to send them away. She was not about to cry now, especially over a superficial wound. But still, it was Sherlock after all…

"We need to get you to hospital," Lindsey said then, her wet eyes still glued to his hand. "The doctors will patch you up and you'll be back here in no time."

Lindsey looked up then to see an adorable, childish pout on Sherlock's lovely lips, causing an involuntary grin to break out all over her face.

"What is it?" she laughed almost tearfully.

"I don't want to go to hospital," Sherlock whined. It was quite weird to hear the words and mannerisms of a five year old boy coming out of the mouth of a thirty- five year old man with the deepest voice a man could possibly possess. "I hate hospitals. Always have."

"I do too," Lindsey said gently. "But, like you said, you are in need of stitches. Where else will you be able to get them?"

"But I don't want to go to hospital," Sherlock continued to complain.

Lindsey sighed with exasperation. She really didn't want to argue with Sherlock, but it seemed as if that was all he did. "Perhaps we can call John…"

"No."

The coldness in his voice as he answered was enough to send an icicle through her heart. Lindsey knew that his harsh demeanor was not directed at her this time, but it was still enough to make her feel uncomfortable and somehow responsible. It had been her suggestion and John was a perfectly reasonable solution to propose when dealing with a stubborn Sherlock. So why was she feeling so guilty, just as she always seemed to feel around him? Because the mere mention of John hurt Sherlock too much, forced him to remember fond memories with his best friend? Her heart ached with a heavy sorrow as she realized just how much he truly missed his dearest friend, even as he hid it beneath the façade of bitterness.

Lindsey replied in the gentlest of manners, placing the washcloth back over Sherlock's hand and holding it in place. "All right, then what about Molly?"

"I tried calling her, but she didn't pick up."

"Then what do you propose we do, Sherlock? You don't want to go to hospital. You won't call your best friend and your other friend is unavailable."

"You could do it."

This made Lindsey freeze in place. She literally could not move for a span of a few seconds. "Me?" she finally uttered.

"Yes, you," Sherlock replied nonchalantly with a brief nod.

"But I'm not a doctor," Lindsey said, realizing with dread that her stutter was making a cruel and invasive appearance in front of the most observant man in the world. "I…I don't know…how to sew up wounds."

"I'm sure it can't be that difficult," he said with a slight shrug.

"No, probably not, but…but I would mess it up!" Lindsey exclaimed then, causing even Sherlock to look slightly taken aback. "I would completely mess it up! The cut wouldn't heal properly…it would scar…I would hurt you…"

"Lindsey," Sherlock began and Lindsey immediately silenced her pointless rambling to allow his deep voice to soothe her nerves. She looked up into his eyes, shocked to find gentleness in them that she had never seen before. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

"But…"

"Trust me, I've been in worse pain than this," he answered with a slight chuckle. "I can handle this."

"No…I…" Lindsey continued to stutter, her eyes beginning to well up with tears again in agony of what she should really do. In her distress, she accidentally clenched the very hands holding Sherlock's, and a hiss of pain passed through his lips.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Lindsey exclaimed in horror, which caused one stubborn tear to fall past her defenses. "See, I can't do this. I'm going to hurt you!"

"I'll be fine," he answered through clenched teeth.

"Please let me take you to hospital," she continued to insist, pleading with her eyes so that he might try to understand. "It will be a sterile environment so there won't be any risk of infection. And the cut probably won't scar because it will be done properly. Please, Sherlock. Please do this for me."

Lindsey watched as those beautiful eyes continued to soften as they stared back at her. The cold, calculative expression that characterized them for a majority of the time vanished completely, and for a moment, she completely forgot that that was normalcy. There was a strange silence between them, but it was not heavy and unbearable like most silences were for her. Rather, it was comforting, soothing, and mesmerizing and it felt like they were the only two people in the entire world. In the dim light of the lamp, Lindsey noticed a layer of moisture in his eyes, and she wondered if that had always been there. Or did it mean something in that very moment of time?

It took several long moments, but Sherlock finally broke the trance occurring between them by pulling his gaze away from her. With a heavy sigh, he gave in. "All right. I'll go…for you."

The smile on Lindsey's face was wider than she ever remembered it being before. Not only was she relieved that he agreed to her proposal, but her heart leapt inside her chest when he admitted that he would do it for her. When Sherlock turned back towards her, his childlike eyes wide with wonder, Lindsey leaned in and gently kissed his cheek once again.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear before pulling away.


	14. Quite the Perplexing Woman

**Another update! Hope you all have a great day! And thank you to:**

**New follows: Mbentley654**

**New favorites: Furryhats, Mbentley654, ShawneeSavage**

**New reviews: raaijashri - yes I love writing Sherlock acting like an adorable little boy!**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock _is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

They finally made it to the emergency room, but unfortunately, they were told that the wait would probably be around an hour since Sherlock's condition wasn't the most critical of emergencies. Almost immediately, a wave of guilt washed over Lindsey for dragging Sherlock here and forcing an already impatient man to sit still for an hour. She tried to reassure herself that this was a far better option than having her stick a needle into his hand. When she found herself involuntarily shuddering at the thought, Sherlock looked up at her curiously. He was currently sitting on top of a stretcher with his hand wrapped up in gauze and encircled by both of Lindsey's.

Most people would have inquired as to why she had just shuddered…asked if she was cold or if something was the matter. She instinctively waited for such a reply, momentarily forgetting that Sherlock was not one to pick up on those types of social interactions. He was so very observant in everything else, but never on human emotions. She decided to answer as though he had asked her.

"I was just thinking about how you almost made me stick a needle into your hand," Lindsey said with a small smile.

Sherlock raised a single eyebrow. "You're not squeamish, are you? Because that would be quite ironic considering you work for the homicide division."

Lindsey laughed at that. "That would be, wouldn't it? But no…I'm not squeamish. But I'd rather not be responsible for patching someone back together."

"Oh I see," Sherlock nodded in understanding. "So then, you hate hospitals as much as I do?"

Once she'd nodded, an adorable smile appeared on Sherlock's face, causing the crow's feet to form that Lindsey found to be so endearing. "They are so very dull. The wait is always too long and the walls too white and clean."

"You hate things to be too clean?"

"To a certain degree, yes," Sherlock replied.

"And what about the doctors and nurses? Do you despise them too?"

"I always seemed to have someone completely inadequate at what they do. But then again, it is rather enjoyable for me to do deductions on them."

"Well, go on then," Lindsey urged, looking around the room to find victims of Sherlock's intense scrutiny. "Find someone to deduce. That will stave off the boredom."

"Very well," Sherlock agreed. "That doctor over there. He's having an affair with the nurse adjacent to us."

Lindsey's eyes widen in amazement. "How on earth did you figure that out?"

"Every few seconds, they exchange glances with each other. And each time they do, both of their pupils dilate. It's quite simple really. Elementary."

"But how do you know they're not in a normal relationship? Or married even?"

"Because the doctor has a wedding ring on his finger, while the nurse does not," Sherlock explained. "Obviously, there is an ignorant wife in the middle of it all. It is a very typical occurrence that I see often in my line of work."

Lindsey couldn't stop herself from smiling, while her heart swelled with admiration for him. He truly was an incredible human being, able to conclude facts from simple observations in a way no one else could dream of achieving. If it was something that could be learned, then she would love to watch him and pick up on a few deductive skills herself. But if it was an incredible gift he'd been born with, she was content to sit back and adore from afar.

It took Sherlock several moments before he noticed her ridiculous grin, as he was still eyeing the scandalous couple. "What?" he asked with the most innocent voice.

"You truly are amazing," she gushed.

"You've told me that already," he pointed out.

'"What's wrong with hearing it more than once?"

"Nothing," he replied with a shrug. "Just surprised, is all."

"Surprised?" Lindsey exclaimed. "I would think you would be expecting the compliments."

"John is the only other person who has ever complimented me on my skills," Sherlock explained. "It's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

"Oh Sherlock," Lindsey said, allowing the pity to completely characterize her voice. She knew Sherlock would pick up on it and probably be annoyed by it. She couldn't have been more correct.

"No need to pity me, Lindsey," Sherlock said. "I'm used to it."

"You still don't deserve to be treated the way you are," Lindsey continued, her thumb subconsciously rubbing his bandaged hand. "You deserve compliments, praises, accolades for what you do…for the murderers you catch…the victims you avenge…the people you save…the pain you've endured…and the sacrifices you've made. It's not just that you are talented at what you do; it's what you choose to do with those skills. You help people. You save people. And yet, some, like Sally Donovan, still have the nerve to call you cruel names. I just…I just can't bear to see that happen to you."

Sherlock stared at her long and hard for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he couldn't comprehend her words with that brilliant mind of his. He opened his mouth slightly, prepared to say something, then shut it close again. It was one of those rare moments when Lindsey had managed to silence the great man, but it wasn't as if she was proud of it or anything. In fact, she would rather have had him talk her ear off, making fun of her for her sentimentality and compassion and explaining to her how useless those emotions were. And perhaps, in the time when John had first met Sherlock, that probably would have been true. But, once again, Lindsey was almost certain of the fact that Sherlock was a changed man. His confrontation with Moriarty, his time away from England, and, most of all, his friendship with John had done that.

Eventually, Sherlock was able to speak again, but his voice sounded particularly low and even hoarse.

"You are quite the perplexing woman, Ms. Conrad," he said and Lindsey couldn't help but laugh. "But then again, all women are."

Just then, the exact same nurse, whom Sherlock had been deducing moments ago, approached them. "Mr. Holmes? We're ready to see you now."

He nodded and slid off the stretcher, while Lindsey released her grasp on his hand. Sherlock began to follow the nurse towards a private room, but then seemed to notice that Lindsey was no longer next to him. He turned around.

"You're not coming?" he asked.

Lindsey was slightly taken aback by his question. "Am I allowed to come? I didn't think I would be."

The nurse picked up on their conversation. "You may come if you'd like to, miss."

"Thank you," Lindsey answered her, but then turned towards Sherlock. "But would _you_ like me to?"

"Why would I have asked if I didn't want you to come?"

"I don't know…I just thought…"

"I don't see why you should have to wait outside here," Sherlock interrupted. "Besides, you can pick up on some stitching skills so that, next time, we can avoid this dreadful place all together."

Lindsey's smile was wide and wonderful as she followed Sherlock and the nurse. But it was not so much because of his funny comment. It was because he had wanted her to be there with him. In the back of her mind, she daydreamed the possibility that it might be because he secretly needed her comfort, even if he tried to hide his pain. Still, while the nurse stitched up his hand, Lindsey grasped his other tightly between hers and she could feel him squeezing back.


	15. Play It For Me

**Hello again! Here's a much longer update. A huge huge huge thank you to JadeBuohler for your 5 reviews and follow and favorite! Wow you really blew me away! I never expected such an amazing response! I would love to read your Sherlock fanfic. I can't wait until you upload it! And don't worry, I have nearly 200 pages written for this fanfic so it's far from over! :D**

**Also thank you to:  
><strong>

**New follows: missreads4fun**

**New reviews: GoDrinkPinesol624 - Thank you! :)**

**The song in this chapter is called _Wrapped in Your Arms_ by Fireflight. Check it out! **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock _is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

_Is this the whole picture_  
><em>Or is it just the start?<em>  
><em>Is this the way you love me?<em>  
><em>You're capturing my heart.<em>  
><em>I used to try and walk alone<em>  
><em>But I've begun to grow.<em>  
><em>And when you tell me just to rest<em>  
><em>I'm finally letting go.<em>  
><em>I let go.<em>

_And I'm here to stay._  
><em>Nothing can separate us.<em>  
><em>And I know I'm okay.<em>  
><em>You cradle me gently<em>  
><em>Wrapped in your arms.<em>

_I'm home._

_I'm seeing so much clearer_  
><em>Looking through your eyes.<em>  
><em>I could never find a safer place<em>  
><em>Even if I tried.<em>  
><em>All the times I've needed you<em>  
><em>You've never left my side.<em>  
><em>I'm clinging to your every word<em>  
><em>Don't ever let me go.<em>  
><em>Don't let go.<em>

_And I'm here to stay._  
><em>Nothing can separate us.<em>  
><em>And I know I'm okay.<em>  
><em>You cradle me gently<em>  
><em>Wrapped in your arms.<em>

_I'm home._  
><em>I'm home.<em>  
><em>I'm wrapped in your arms.<em>

_And I'm here to stay._  
><em>Nothing can separate us.<em>  
><em>And I know I'm okay.<em>  
><em>You cradle me gently<em>  
><em>Wrapped in your arms.<em>

_And I'm here to stay.  
>Nothing can separate us.<br>And I know I'm okay.  
>You cradle me gently<br>Wrapped in your arms._

_I'm home.  
>I'm home. <em>

"Lindsey?"

"Oh my God!" Lindsey spun around in her seat, causing the head of her acoustic guitar to collide with the music stand. It was almost like a comedy film, complete with a showering of sheet music all over the floor. But none of that registered in her mind as her eyes connected with those of Sherlock's while he stood in the doorway of her flat. Once again, his incredible silhouette stood in the shadows, despite the fact that it was nearly 8:00 am that Sunday morning. When he stepped into the path of the sunlight streaming through her windows, Lindsey had to catch her breath as she saw his handsome face, his lovely curls, and his breathtaking blue-green eyes. Of course, he was wearing his suit and coat, despite the fact that London was in the middle of its summer. The only indication he gave for the warmer weather was the absence of his blue scarf.

"Sherlock!" Lindsey exclaimed, carefully setting her guitar down on her seat. "Is something wrong?"

"No…" Sherlock said, his voice trailing off and his eyes wandering to the side in perplexity.

"Then why…why did you scare me like that?"

"I didn't mean to," he answered honestly, drawing closer to where she stood by the fireplace. "I wanted to discuss the case with you more, but I waited until you were finished with your song. I thought I was being polite."

Lindsey smiled once again at his innocence. "Thank you for that. But, seriously, how do you keep getting into my flat?"

With a sly smile in return, Sherlock pulled out a bobby pin from his coat pocket. "Elementary, really."

Lindsey pinched the bridge of her nose in feigned agitation. "Honestly, if it was anyone other than _you_, I wouldn't hesitate to call the police."

"Technically, you still _could_."

"That's true, I could. But I have the feeling Greg would let you get away with it."

Sherlock smirked slightly and walked a few paces until he reached the edge of her piano. She watched him as he gently ran his long fingers across the keyboard, so lightly like it was a flutter in the breeze. With his eyes so transfixed upon the instrument, almost mesmerized it would seem, Lindsey began to wonder what was floating around in that head of his. Again, the desire to be able to read minds became overpowering that it frustrated her immensely. So she settled, instead, to try to sense his emotions from his eyes, but even that was difficult at that very moment. He seemed to be in a trancelike state, the emotional side of him completely wiped clean. A part of her was desperate to speak up, to try to break him away and get him to reveal his feelings to her. But a stronger, more disciplined part told her to bite her lip and allow him to do whatever he needed to. Perhaps, this was a moment when Sherlock was in his mind palace, as John had described in the blog. If that was the case, then there was no way to break down the walls of the palace anyway.

Finally, Sherlock looked up at her and his eyes became focused once again. "Do you know _Pachelbel Canon_?"

The question, completely out of the blue, took her so much by surprise that Lindsey wasn't sure she heard him correctly. "Sorry, do I know what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You honestly didn't hear the question?"

"I'm sorry," Lindsey replied timidly, her eyes falling to the ground in shame. She watched in embarrassment as her feet shifted nervously and her hands clenched in front of her. "But could you please repeat it?"

"I said, do you know _Pachelbel Canon?_ As in, do you know how to play it?" he asked once again.

A strange kind of warmth emanated from Lindsey's heart and she looked up at him with a lovely smile. "I do. I love _Pachelbel Canon_."

This time, it was Sherlock's turn to look down at his feet and Lindsey cocked her head in curiosity at his behavior. "Would you…play it for me?"

Lindsey could feel water welling up in her eyes, but she wasn't quite sure why that was. Perhaps it was her horrible hormones wreaking havoc with her emotions once again, but she simply had to turn away and surreptitiously close her eyes and will away the tears. There was absolutely nothing to cry about in that very moment. But she supposed that Sherlock's simple request meant a great deal to her – the fact that he had specifically requested that she showcase her talent and with a specific song in mind too. And the way he had asked…with that deep, mesmerizing voice miraculously sounding deeper than usual…and romantic even. Dear God, what was happening to her?

"Of course I will."

So Lindsey walked towards her piano, pulled out the appropriate sheet music from her piano bench, placed it on the stand, and sat down and began to play. Close to the beginning, her breath caught in her throat when she saw that Sherlock sat himself down beside her, his eyes watching her fingers gracefully traversing the keyboard. She surprised herself at her ability to keep going without a single mistake, despite the fact that he was sitting close to her, so incredibly close that she could smell his scent. It was a strange combination of cigarette smoke, cologne, and chemicals and probably one that shouldn't have been so attractive. But it was to Lindsey because of the simple fact that it was _his_ scent and only his scent.

Once she reached the last note, Lindsey purposely kept her foot on the peddle so that its echo could last several seconds longer. She admonished herself for being such a romantic, but it was such an ingrained part of her personality that she couldn't help it sometimes. When she turned her head away from the keyboard, back towards Sherlock, he also turned his head in her direction. They looked into each others' eyes and, although in reality it was only for a few seconds, it seemed like an eternity to her. Her heart was all aflutter in her chest now, beating so very rapidly that she felt like she could barely breathe. Lindsey had had many silly boy crushes in the past, but never before had she felt like this. This was something completely different, and it only happened when she was with Sherlock.

The trance was broken the minute Sherlock looked away and stood up from the piano bench. Lindsey closed her eyes and bit her lip, willing herself not to be disappointed. What did she expect? How could she expect anything? He was Sherlock Holmes, after all, a man who dismissed caring and compassion and sentiment; a man who only cared about the work. He would never care for someone like she did for him. It would be enough if she became one of his friends, she told herself sternly. Count your blessings. Be grateful for what you have and don't wish for something that can never be.

"That was very good," Sherlock said, shortly after standing up. "Perhaps we could do a duet."

This took Lindsey momentarily out of her melancholy. "Really? A duet?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I know the violin part. You know the piano part. It only makes sense."

"Yes, that would be lovely. But we'll have to wait until your hand heals," Lindsey reminded him gently.

"Damn," Sherlock uttered under his breath, earning a sweet giggle from Lindsey's lips.

"How are you feeling, by the way? Does it hurt at all?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Sherlock seemed to know that she was going ask, once again, about his well-being. With an exasperated sigh, he said, "I don't need your mothering, Lindsey. I'm fine."

Regardless, Lindsey stood up from the bench, walked over to where Sherlock stood, gently grabbed his bandaged hand, and placed a gentle kiss on the palm. She wasn't quite sure where that urge had come from – perhaps it was partly to irritate him. Even more so, however, it was another subtle way for Lindsey to show Sherlock that she cared for him.

"Sorry, Sherlock," she said with a smile. "But I'm a woman. That's what we do."

Another dramatic eye roll came her way, but Lindsey simply continued to smile even as Sherlock pulled his hand out of her grasp. He began to pace back and forth in her sitting room, his mind already onto the next thing. Obviously, he was concerned with the nurse murder and had come to her flat to discuss it in the first place. The time he spent pacing must have been his chance to recollect his thoughts after the momentary musical distraction. His tall, dominating presence seemed strange in her quaint, little home, with its flowery wallpaper and pink pillows. But it was one she wouldn't trade for anything.

"I've found out who the surgeon is," Sherlock stated without preamble, suddenly stopping in the middle of the room and locking eyes once again with Lindsey. "His name is Dr. Robinson."

"That's great!" Lindsey exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm, clapping her hands together with delight. "How did you do it?"

"Simple, really. I just inquired as to which surgeons Elaine Parker worked with on the day she was killed. There was only one who had performed heart surgery."

"Perfect, so Greg has him behind bars now?"

"Well…not quite…"

Lindsey's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock sighed heavily and plopped down in her chair, which served as an indication that she do the same in another. "Once I told Lestrade who it was, he looked into the man's personal information…address, phone number, email, etc. He even organized a police raid to arrest him, but it seems as if he's disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh no," she replied, a hint of fear edging into her voice. "How is that possible?"

"He's probably left the country," Sherlock explained. "Knew I was coming after him. Damn, if only I had acted sooner."

"You did the best you could."

"Well, it's a lost cause now."

"Have you tried researching close family and friends?" Lindsey suggested, trying to restore his lost enthusiasm. "Maybe they know where he could have disappeared to."

"I thought of that, and Lestrade is doing some of the research," Sherlock said, but his face was still downcast. "But I don't have much hope that it will work."

Once again, Lindsey wore the look of pity on her face for him. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Sherlock looked at her then with a faraway stare, and a frightening thought passed through her mind that she had said the wrong thing. Her nervous habits were threatening to creep up on her at any moment, so she did her best to try to suppress them. To the best of her ability, Lindsey tucked her hands under her thighs to subdue the urge to squeeze them in her lap. The trembling voice was easily avoided since she decided to wait and see how Sherlock was going to respond. But her fidgeting was one quirk that she had never found a solution to. In turn, this caused her cheeks to burn scarlet at the horrifying thought that he was probably going to, once again, detect all of these things.

But all of her nervousness melted away as she watched him come back from his mind palace and look at her directly in the eye.

"Lindsey?"

"Yes?"

"There is one thing you could help me with…" he said, his voice growing deeper and huskier once again.

"Of course," she replied instantly, her body beginning to sit upright in the chair in anticipation.

"Do you think…you might want to…maybe…possibly…move into 221B…with me?"

Lindsey's heart literally stopped. It wasn't an exaggeration. She couldn't feel her body and it was a strange, surreal sensation. This time, however, she didn't need Sherlock to repeat his words to her; they were ingrained in her brain like a brand into skin. If she wasn't the kind of person to be so mortified by her appearance in front of people, it might have been entertaining to try to imagine her expression in that moment in time. But, being who she was, she tried not to think about it. Instead, Lindsey watched as Sherlock reacted to her reaction. Strangely enough, he appeared like a sweet, little boy to her; his eyes were wide with wonder as if he were waiting for his mother to answer his request for a toy dinosaur. But when she didn't answer right away, Sherlock's expression actually appeared to turn more and more disappointed.

"Lindsey?" he ventured to ask.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, literally shaking her head as if to break away from her trance. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's just I'm…I'm trying to digest what you just said."

"Do I need to repeat it?" he asked. "You seem to need me to repeat things a lot of the time."

Lindsey smiled. "No, not this time. I heard you perfectly."

"So…then…what do you say?" he began.

"I just…" Lindsey said, the trembling in her voice threatening to come back. "I mean…you really want me to move in with you?"

"Logically, it makes a lot of sense," Sherlock stated. "We are partners now. You assist me on cases and follow me around. I like to have someone nearby to discuss things with. It is rather cumbersome and expensive and pointless to take a taxi all the way to Notting Hill every time I desire to converse with you. I'm sure it's equally cumbersome, expensive, and pointless for you to come all the way to Baker Street."

"It's really not _that_ bad, is it?" Lindsey replied in a teasing voice.

Sherlock crinkled his noise at that. "No, it is. It really is."

A sweet giggle escaped her lips.

"And this way…" Sherlock began. "It will be easier to practice our duet piece."

Smiling nervously, Lindsey nodded. "That is true."

But Sherlock raised a single eyebrow. "There's something holding you back though, isn't there?"

In actuality, there seemed to be a million things holding Lindsey from blurting out 'yes' to such a wonderful suggestion. Despite her burning desire to accept Sherlock's proposal, she knew, in the back of her mind, that actually living with him would only heighten her feelings for him. She still couldn't quite pin down exactly what those feelings were, but she knew she cared for him. And that compassion, no doubt, would only intensify the more time she spent with him. Sherlock was only viewing it as a business transaction. Since they would work together frequently, and would most likely see each other a lot anyway, then there would be little difference.

But of course, Lindsey was viewing 'living together' in a completely different way. In her mind, the concept of 'living together' had a romantic air completely surrounding it. That concept was completely lost on Sherlock, but if she were to actually go through with this, she knew she would always feel that tension – a tension, a yearning, a desire that she would never be able to fulfill. In other words, she was pretty much condemning herself to an emotional Hell.

And what about her parents? There was no possible way she could hide this from them and they would most definitely see this in the same way as she did. How would they respond to her news that she would be moving in with a man nearly ten years older than her? Even if she tried to explain to them that he was probably the most asexual human being on the planet, it still would not go over well with them. Then again, she _was_ an adult and she _did _have the right to make her own decisions. But with parents as overprotective as hers, her age didn't really matter all that much in their eyes.

Perhaps…the other possibility could be that Sherlock actually did want Lindsey to be with him…he just wouldn't openly admit it. Could that actually be possible, or was her heart so lovesick that it was actually making her believe the unimaginable?

A storm was swiftly brewing inside her head that Lindsey actually had to grasp her forehead as she felt a headache coming along. With Sherlock's eyes boring into her own, it was hard to find some other object in the room to focus on and clear her head. His presence, right there in front of her, wasn't helping her to make a wise decision. Deep down, however, Lindsey knew she couldn't refuse him. Whenever she was with him, her heart leapt and pounded in her chest and she literally felt like she was riding on clouds. To fathom being with him all the time was a glorious thing.

"Sherlock…" Lindsey began, and she watched as his eyes widened in anticipation. "Sure, I'll come live with you."

And the smile that graced his lips made her headache and agonizing thoughts completely worth it. "Excellent. How soon do you think you can make it happen?"

Lindsey smiled to herself, but also shook her head. What did she just get herself into? She supposed that, if something were to go wrong and they did have a falling out, she could always move out and move on. And it would only be for the summer, after all, until she had to return to university. Now, she just had to come up with a diplomatic explanation for her parents…


	16. An Incredible Honor

**Hello again! Lindsey's moving in with Sherlock! Quite a big step in their relationship, huh? I hope you're all staying interested. I know it's slow and I'm kinda anxious to get to the main story plot, but I also want to spread it out so I don't run out of writing to post! But I want to reiterate how amazing you all are for continuing to support this fanfic. I love you all! **

**Thank you to:**

**New follows: MiaR**

**New favorites: MiaR**

**New Reviews: Superwholockian706 - Yay, I'm so glad you feel warm and fuzzy! That's why I love fluff so much. But be sure to let me know when it gets too mushy. :P**

**JadeBuohler - Thank you so so much! You are so sweet! I was very excited when you said your fanfic was posted! I love it so far! You've definitely got me hooked!**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

"Hello dear!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson!" Lindsey greeted the sweet, elderly lady, behind a dangerous mountain of cardboard boxes that threatened to topple at any second.

"It's so good to see you," Mrs. Hudson continued to gush, ushering her inside with her hand. "It's terribly exciting that you are moving in with Sherlock!"

"Yes, I am very excited too," Lindsey replied with a warm smile, momentarily setting the boxes down on the floor. "It was an unexpected request on his part, but still wonderful."

Mrs. Hudson then signaled Lindsey to come closer towards her, while her other hand was held up in front of her mouth. Once Lindsey leaned in close enough, she heard what Mrs. Hudson was intending to tell her.

"Honestly, dear, I think Sherlock was feeling very lonely when John moved out. He came back after two years away, expecting everything to be exactly as it was when he left. But, that was sadly not to be. The poor boy needs companionship and you were able to give it to him."

The truth in that statement hung over Lindsey, weighing her down like a piece of lead in the pit of her stomach. It was still a mystery to her as to why this single man had become so very important to her, but the fact remained that she cared for him immensely. They had probably known each other for two weeks in total, and she already possessed strong, unexplainable feelings. So the fact that Sherlock was so lonely made her heart ache with incredible despair. No one deserved to be alone, even someone who struggled with basic human interactions.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson then called from the bottom of the stairs. "Come down and help Lindsey with her boxes!"

"Yes, all right, I'll be there in a second," Sherlock replied, his lovely voice echoing off the walls of the flat.

"That's okay, Mrs. Hudson," Lindsey assured her gently. "I don't want Sherlock to do any strenuous work with his injured hand."

"He injured his hand?" the old lady squealed with fright. "But when was this? I heard him playing his violin this morning."

Lindsey pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "He's not supposed to be. He needs to allow time for the cut to heal or else the stitches will come loose. That's what the doctor said."

Mrs. Hudson gave a warm, amused smile. "Since when does Sherlock listen to anyone? You're going to have to get used to that now you're coming to live with him. He doesn't listen to a word I say."

"That's not true," Sherlock suddenly said from the top of the stairs, making Lindsey's heart jump. She looked up to see Sherlock bounding down the stairs in a flash, already reaching for the boxes on the floor. "I'm listening to you right now, aren't I?"

"Sherlock, you really don't have to," Lindsey insisted. "Your hand…"

"…is perfectly fine," Sherlock interjected. "Now stop fussing."

"But you should really…"

Sherlock heaved a huge sigh of annoyance, just as he started to ascend the staircase with the boxes in hand. "Really, Lindsey, are you going to mother me to death already? You've lived here less than a day. I get enough of that already from Mrs. Hudson."

A huge sigh escaped her lips as well and she looked at Mrs. Hudson's face of pity. "Good luck, dear."

"Thanks," Lindsey said. "I'm going to need it."

After a few more boxes were brought upstairs, Lindsey began rummaging through them and placing pots and pans, plates and utensils in the kitchen cupboards. Meanwhile, Sherlock's eyes were glued to his laptop.

"Any updates on the fugitive surgeon?" she decided to ask.

"None whatsoever," Sherlock replied, not bothering to pry his eyes away from the screen. "Lestrade has interviewed all family and friends in the area and none of them have a clue where he's gone. He was careful – he didn't tell a soul."

"Is there anything else I can do?" Lindsey asked.

This seemed to rouse Sherlock from his trance as he pried his eyes away from the screen. He looked at her with a very gentle expression, causing her to swoon once again. Leaning his cheek against his folded hands, he watched her intently with those piercing seafoam eyes.

"Not that I can think of," he answered honestly.

Lindsey sighed. All of a sudden, a wave of insecurity overwhelmed her, drowning her in a sea of depression. She turned away from him and her movements in putting the dishes away slowed down significantly.

"I don't feel like I've been all that helpful to you," she whispered. She paused for a minute, stopping the clanging noise of the dishes to try to see if she could sense if Sherlock had noticed, without her actually looking up. It, surprisingly, didn't take long for him to respond.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Lindsey raised her eyes to look at him. "How have I really helped you on cases? All I've done is accompany you and observe you and take occasional notes. But, in all seriousness, you do all of the work. You don't really need me."

From where she stood, Lindsey couldn't quite make out Sherlock's expression. Or perhaps, there was nothing to look at; perhaps, it was as blank as an empty chalkboard. Butterflies began to invade her stomach as she anticipated his answer and they soon became so intense that it was almost painful. The only thing she could think to do was turn her head away once again and refocus her attention on the task at hand.

But then, Lindsey heard Sherlock stand up from his seat and looked up to see him crossing the living room towards the kitchen. As soon as he stood next to her, he spoke.

"I asked you to be my partner. Obviously, that means you have some use to me."

"But all of the things I've done…you could have done yourself."

"Some of them, yes," Sherlock nodded. "But I like having someone there to converse with and bounce ideas off of. I've found that I actually think better that way."

"So you had a partner before John?" Lindsey asked.

He shook his head. "No, there was no one before John."

"Then who did you converse with then?"

It was then that Sherlock pointed to a lone skull on the mantelpiece and a ridiculous grin broke over Lindsey's face. "Really?"

"You can probably imagine the perplexed looks I received from many passers-by," he answered with an equally ridiculous grin.

"And after John, you didn't want to settle for your skull anymore?"

Sherlock paused for a moment in a contemplative manner. "I suppose I had just gotten so used to having a physical person around. And with John no longer in the picture, I obviously had to search for someone else."

A flash of sadness crossed Sherlock's expression so quickly that Lindsey nearly overlooked it. But it had been there, so sadness must have existed in that brilliant head of his, no matter how briefly. Lindsey yearned to embrace him then, to show him that he didn't have to feel so alone. He was close enough to her that she technically could, but she knew that this would be crossing a boundary. Sure, they were moving into together, but that didn't mean she had gained the right to do something that Sherlock wasn't comfortable with. In truth, he probably didn't feel comfortable hugging even Mrs. Hudson; rather it was undoubtedly something she'd forced upon him. Reluctantly, Lindsey kept her distance, struggling with the emotions bubbling up inside her.

As Lindsey watched him cross the room again, she smiled to herself as she saw him remove his suit jacket and replace it with a burgundy dressing gown. This was most likely his 'homely' attire and it pleased her to think that he was comfortable enough around her to adorn it. Then, another question arrived at the forefront of her mind.

"But why me, Sherlock?" she asked. "Why did you choose me over others who are far more qualified than I am?"

Sherlock smirked. "You really think they would actually_ want _to go out on cases with me?"

But instead of laughing along with Sherlock, the sensation of pity stung at her heart again. "Why wouldn't they? It's an incredible honor to watch you work!"

Sherlock looked at her for a very brief moment, but then his eyes fell to the floor as he began to pick at something on the armchair. His fidgety manner betrayed a sense of nervousness, and Lindsey instantly felt responsible for making him feel that way. At the same time, however, it was exactly the opposite reaction she would have expected from him in the face of a compliment. Slowly, but surely, she began to store sweet recollections of Sherlock's mannerisms. Her new roommate was still quite the mystery, the special gift wrapped up in dozens of layers of paper. But, by some miracle, she felt as though she was tearing away bits of paper, making her way to the deepest layers of his incredible person. One day, perhaps, she would find the true Sherlock in the very center.

Sherlock looked up at her then. He wasn't smiling, but his entire expression was soft and gentle, more than she'd ever seen before. "This is exactly why I asked _you_. For that very reason."

Sherlock then reached for his violin again, propped it up on his shoulder, readied the bow, and began to play. Her motherly side threatened to emerge, scolding him for pulling at his stitches. But her heart couldn't bear to make him stop when _Pachelbel Canon_ emerged from the wooden instrument, more beautiful than she'd ever heard it before. Fortunately, her piano had been delivered the day before and was waiting for her to join in the duet. She did so without any hesitation, and as she began to play, she looked up to see Sherlock's breathtakingly beautiful smile.


	17. Shut Up, John

**Here's another short update! There might be some trouble in paradise...uh oh! I hope you don't mind the way Lindsey acts in this chapter. You already know that she's very sensitive and Sherlock is not attuned to emotions at all. But you'll understand in the next few chapters why she is that way.  
><strong>

**I'd also like to make a shout out to one of my most loyal readers, JadeBuohler. Please go check out her new story "Redbeard!" It's so amazing and full of really great suspense! I guarantee you'll be hooked!**

**Again, thank you to Jade for your lovely review. You are seriously the sweetest person ever! **

**And thank you to:**

**New follows: AlexJBlack, Frostyfawns, SweetInsanity89, loveisthewayforme**

**New favorites: AnimeisEverything, Frostyfawns, You cant rush science, loveisthewayforme **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock _is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

"I think this new case is a 7," Sherlock suddenly said out loud in the middle of their shared taxi ride from Baker Street to Scotland Yard.

Lindsey had been watching the London sights pass through her window, but she immediately perked up upon hearing Sherlock's voice. When she'd last looked over at him, he had been staring intently at his phone and his fingers had been dancing across the screen almost as if he were playing on a piano keyboard. Despite the fact that he had just talked to her, however, he failed to look up into her eyes. Lindsey wasn't sure whether he actually was conversing with her or if he was simply voicing his thoughts out loud. Should she disturb him, especially if he was lost in his thoughts? She clutched her bag in her lap in anxiety, leaned her head back against the seat, and heaved a huge sigh.

"Sherlock?" she finally decided to ask, ignoring the mixed messages in her tormented mind.

"Shut up, John, I'm thinking."

Lindsey's entire body froze, but whether in shock or fright she wasn't sure. Sherlock's eyes were still glued to his phone, so he obviously was oblivious to the incredible mistake he had just made. Maybe he was so lost in his thoughts that he really did believe that it was John sitting next to him, and not Lindsey. And yet, a part of her realized that she should have expected this. The two of them had met only a few weeks ago, and John had been Sherlock's partner and flat mate for years. How on earth was she supposed to compete with that? But even as she attempted to rationalize his error, it felt almost like a sting of rejection and it pained her beyond comprehension. Gulping down her tears, Lindsey turned back towards the city, closing her eyes and willing away the unbearable feelings that tormented her. She was just a replacement, wasn't she? She would never be more than some kind of utility in his eyes. She knew something more was never possible, but maybe even a friendship was also out of her reach.

Since London was immersed in rush hour traffic, it took Sherlock and Lindsey nearly twenty minutes to travel from Baker Street to Scotland Yard. Normally, this would not have bothered her in the slightest, but the unbearable tension hung in the air as long as they were forced to sit together in that taxi. She could barely withstand this misery because, for twenty endless minutes, in Sherlock's eyes, she was John Watson and not Lindsey Conrad. Every second that past, she hoped and prayed that he would realize his mistake and blurt out an apology that she would of course accept. But none would ever come and Lindsey remained sitting there, facing the window and wiping away her tears with her thumb.

When they finally made it to the office, Lindsey threw some money at the cabbie and dashed out the door, leaving a completely ignorant Sherlock behind. Even when he stepped gracefully out of the car, he didn't seem at all aware that she had ridden with him or that she'd practically escaped and flew up the stairs to the main office. She arrived several minutes before him, and as soon as she dashed past Philip's cubicle towards her own, she noticed Philip stand up from his chair and walk over to her.

"Hey, Lindsey, you okay?"

God, if only Sherlock could be like Philip in that respect. If only he could be like every other human being in the world.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Lindsey answered with a small smile.

"You sure?" Philip didn't seem too convinced. "You look like you've been crying."

Lindsey swiped at her damp cheeks, cursing herself for making it so blatantly obvious to the whole world.

"No really, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Okay…" Philip trailed off. It sounded like he was about to drill Lindsey with more questions when Sherlock arrived on the floor and immediately marched towards Greg's office. Philip watched him walk by with a curious expression. "It's not him…is it?"

Lindsey gulped, realizing that if she attempted to lie at that very moment, she would fail miserably. When she simply nodded, Philip bit his lip rather viscously.

"All right, that's it. I'm going to go give him a piece of my mind."

"No, don't!" Lindsey exclaimed. "Please don't. Really, I can handle it."

"I can't let him treat you like that, Lindsey," Philip insisted.

Lindsey's heart fell to the pit of her stomach the second that Sherlock walked out of the office, with Greg in tow, and watched as Philip strode up to Sherlock, effectively blocking his path.

"This is your first and last warning, Sherlock," Philip said through gritted teeth. "Make my intern upset again and you'll pay."

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised at the accusation. "What are you blabbering about this time, Anderson?"

"You will not, and I repeat, will not, make Lindsey upset again."

"What? What did I do? I didn't do anything to Lindsey!"

"You made her cry. She said so herself!"

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Greg interjected, literally standing between the two men in the midst of the heated argument. "Anderson, what are you on about?"

"Lindsey just told me that Sherlock upset her," Philip explained, pointing an accusing finger in Sherlock's direction.

"And she said this to you? When?" Sherlock asked, his voice surprisingly calm despite the fact that Philip was steadily raising his own volume.

"Just now when she entered the office!"

"Were you actually _listening_ to what she was saying, or did your inferior mind morph her words into something completely different?"

"She _told_ me herself! You can ask her right now if you so desire!"

"Please!" Lindsey exclaimed then, causing nearly the entire office to look in her direction. That must have been at least twenty pairs of eyes and that thought alone terrified her. It was true that more than twenty pairs of eyes would be completely focused on her in a few months, when she was scheduled to give a presentation on her internship experience. But, of course, this was completely different. An entire argument had erupted because of her vulnerability, because of her inability to separate life from work and to suppress her emotions in a professional manner.

However, of the twenty pairs of eyes, the only one she cared about was Sherlock's. He looked so utterly lost and confused, but Lindsey was far too distressed to try to decipher the meaning behind his expression. Even if she was in the right state of mind to do so, she didn't think it would be possible.

"Please, just let it go…all of you," Lindsey begged. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing, Lindsey," Sally decided to interject, her voice dangerously laced with contempt. Somehow, Lindsey knew exactly what words were about to leave her mouth and she immediately looked to Sherlock to watch his response. "If the Freak wasn't treating you right, he ought to be slapped up the side of the head."

"Donovan!" Greg exclaimed.

"I honestly don't know what the hell I did," Sherlock muttered under his breath. "I didn't do anything."

That was when Sherlock glared at her – actually glared at her…and it was absolutely terrifying. Water began to pool in her eyes again and Lindsey had to look away. But Lindsey soon recognized the beginnings of an anxiety attack, so she did the only thing she could think of. She dashed out of the room towards the stairs, allowing the tears to stream down her cheeks without a care in the world.


	18. Found You

**Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay! School and real life got in the way of things, but now I'm back. I wrote this section a few months ago and reading it again, I'm not entirely happy with it. But I'll let you know if I rewrite and repost it later. **

**Thank you to all these new people! What an amazing response! You are all amazing!  
><strong>

**New follows: EnchantedRiver, beautiful sun, luighseach, soarr, wireless-bird, zenstarrflower**

**New favorites: Selyne Nightshade, beautiful sun, luighseach, **

**New reviews: The lovely JadeBuohler! - You are such an amazing person! Don't worry, Lindsey will eventually find happiness. :) And I'm so excited to see where you take your story! It's so suspenseful and exciting and I get so thrilled when I see you've updated! Your writing is spectacular! **

**Writer of the Lost Age - Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy!**

**PrincessPipi - Thank you so much! Your comment about Lindsey being realistic means so much to me! And yes, it is Carey Mulligan on the cover. It's a picture of her from her movie _An Education_. **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock _is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

Lindsey knew that St. James's park wasn't the safest place to hide, but in her addled mind, logic was swiftly escaping her. It didn't really matter to her where she went, so long as it was a comforting place outside the suffocating walls of Scotland Yard. It only took her about ten minutes to reach a fairly secluded area of the park, surrounded by low hanging trees and adjacent to a small pond. Upon reaching the edge of the pond, Lindsey watched as a family of ducks walked right by her in order to get access to the water. There were three ducklings in total, following their mother in succession and chirping happily as soon as they could paddle their webbed feet in the water. Setting herself down near the edge, Lindsey smiled a sad smile as she observed the carefree family without a worry in the world to torment them.

Her crying had, for the most part, ceased when she reached the park, but there were occasional tears stubbornly coursing down her cheeks. Being alone, Lindsey didn't bother to wipe them away. In fact, she welcomed them.

Then a thought came to her mind. Pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, she reached her mum's number and seriously considered dialing it. She knew her mum would answer instantly and wouldn't hesitate to make her feel better. But Lindsey was also considering telling her that she just wanted to give up. In a few hours, those words would probably seem ridiculous, but right now, it was what she was feeling. She didn't want to give up on the internship – that was the last thing she wanted. But if Sherlock Holmes was a constant presence at the Yard, she wasn't sure how she was going to endure the summer.

He was the only person she'd ever met who caused such a whirlwind of emotions inside her. When he made her happy, she was over the moon and felt as though she could take on the entire world. But when he upset her…she felt like she was back to feeling the way she did when she was an undergraduate student at university. She had never wanted to experience those feelings again…the feelings of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair. Of all of those, hopelessness was the one that terrified her the most. She supposed that was because hopelessness made her believe that she had no control…that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

But before she pressed the green call button on her phone, a soft, mesmerizing voice invaded her senses.

"Found you."

Lindsey nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up to see none other than Sherlock, standing before with that long, dark coat of his that almost made him intimidating. And yet, when he knelt down before her, so that their eyes were level with each other's, the same intimidation vanished into thin air. His face was soft, much like his voice had been and it seemed to paralyze her. Was this truly Sherlock in front of her? Could Sherlock's face actually look that soft and comforting…ever?

"Why'd you run off like that?" Sherlock asked her, sitting himself down beside her near the pond.

Lindsey heaved a huge sigh. "Isn't it obvious?"

But she instantly regretted what she uttered as soon as the words escaped her lips. Sherlock looked at her with a peculiar expression, and she realized that he genuinely did not know or understand why she had run off. Sure, he saw the tears and heard the sobs, but he didn't seem to connect the sadness with her unexpected departure from the office. Most people would know that she was upset when she ran off, but again, Sherlock was not most people. So, in retrospect, her words now sounded so very cruel as they hung in the air. Essentially, she was criticizing him for not understanding. Nothing seemed to be going right at all today.

Lindsey ran a nervous hand through her hair. "I mean, I ran off because I was upset."

"I guess then I should ask you this question: Why were you upset?" Sherlock said. "Why did Anderson seem to think I caused it?"

Lindsey tugged helplessly at her braid just as she felt the tears spring into her eyes again. Looking out over the water, she tried to collect her thoughts and her nerves with the hope that looking away from Sherlock would help her accomplish that. But once again, he was so very close to her that she could smell his scent and hear his breaths. All of it created a very difficult situation for thinking. Her chest felt constricted and tense, and it was a horrible feeling that she was all too familiar with. That was the feeling that accompanied the anxiety and the stress and the hopelessness. Dear God, was she on the verge of another anxiety attack?

When Lindsey didn't answer right away, Sherlock spoke up again. But this time, his voice was soft again…soothing even. "Did I cause it?"

This time, Lindsey couldn't control the tears. A whimper fell out of her mouth before she could stop it, causing her to cover her mouth with her hand. In that moment, all she wanted was for Sherlock to go away, or for her to run away again. All she wanted was to run away somewhere far, perhaps back home to safe and reliable Manchester where her supportive family was always there. But for some reason, she felt glued to the spot and she wasn't sure what was holding her back. And it didn't look like Sherlock was going to leave anytime soon.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," she gasped through her tears. "I didn't mean for this to get so out of hand."

"I don't understand what I did," he said truthfully.

"It's just…" she paused for a moment, trying to think of exactly the right words. "When I tried to talk to you in the cab, you called me John."

"Oh…" he said, and he genuinely sounded surprised. "Did I do that? I didn't even realize…"

"Which is why I shouldn't have been so upset about it," Lindsey said as she wiped her tears away. "I shouldn't have taken it so personally. But I did and that's why I was crying when I got to the office. Philip saw me and asked if you were the reason. I wasn't thinking, so I said you were and that's when he confronted you. Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to!"

"No, it's…it's fine…"

"No it's not."

"It is."

"No, it's not."

Sherlock looked at her and smirked. "You really want to continue this argument? Because it could literally go on forever."

Lindsey gave him a small smile, but that was all of the effort she could muster. Sadness still seemed to hang in the atmosphere around them, at least from her perspective. His perspective was an entirely different mystery and one that Lindsey didn't really have the energy or will to try to decipher at the moment.

Sherlock's legs were stretched out in front of him on the grass and the wind danced around and played with his lovely curls. Some of them even blew into his face, but he didn't seem to notice. The sunlight cascaded down, hitting his face in such a way that actually seemed to make him appear younger than he actually was. Once again, Lindsey was reminded of a boy, innocent, sweet, and carefree. And in many ways, he was all those things. She allowed one last tear to run down her cheek in silence as she watched him, succumbing to the enormous amount of pain in her heart. Her hormones were probably tormenting her again, but she was feeling very emotional right now. And she was feeling longing and desperation and despair as she looked at the man who was the cause of all of these emotions.

Sherlock looked at her then with a creased brow, "You're crying again? I thought we fixed this problem?"

Lindsey wiped the tear away furiously. "Yeah, sorry we did. I'll stop."

"Good, because our next case is a 7. Might even be an 8. Let's head back to the office and start looking at the evidence."

Lindsey nodded and was about to stand back up when she looked up and saw Sherlock extending his hand to her. With a pleasant smile on her face, she accepted it and whispered a thank you to him. It was a nice little surprise, after all. It made up for the fact that, even though he believed it, Lindsey knew that they hadn't really fixed the problem. And she didn't think they ever would.


	19. Please Be Safe

**Hi everyone! Hope you're all doing well! Here's another one. I know it's short, but I'll try to update tomorrow!  
><strong>

**Thank you to:**

**New follows: GypsyWitchBaby, Mishaspoptart, SerenityAngels, csd14ll, go get it, iocane and cough drops**

**New reviews: Thank you, Jade, my most loyal reviewer! I know I'm behind on "Redbeard," but I'll do my best to catch up! Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**Love you all for continuing to support me! **

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

"So that's the third body that's turned up at that location?" Sherlock asked Greg, as the two of them were looking over an array of photographs spread across the conference room table.

"Yep, over the last year," Greg responded with a nod of his head. "The first two incidences seemed like coincidence, but this third one has got me feeling suspicious."

"Are there any buildings or landmarks nearby?"

"There's absolutely nothing, save for an abandoned chemical factory. No one lives in that area within a ten mile radius."

"Hmm…" Sherlock murmured, staring intently at the pictures again, some of which featured the corpses and others of the nearby landscape. "The killers drove the corpses to this faraway place to drop off. But why in the same place? Could it be the same killer? And why in that particular place?"

Greg heaved a frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his greying hair. "We've got nothing to go on. Absolutely nothing."

"I wouldn't say that," Sherlock said in a pompous fashion. "Give me five minutes at the scene and I can guarantee I'll get you something to work with."

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

Lindsey was working at her cubicle, compiling a log of all of the evidence bags from the last crime scene visit, but her mind kept wandering towards the conversation in the next room. She couldn't hear all of the details they were discussing, but an immediate feeling of dread overcame her. For some reason, this particular case seemed to be frightfully dangerous in her mind, even though there was probably nothing to worry about. Maybe it was the sound of that abandoned chemical factory that caused chills to run up and down her spine. If Sherlock wanted to investigate that place, who knew what could be lurking around there?

Unfortunately, her distracted mind caused her to mess up the log and she mentally cursed herself for her lack of focus. She really needed to get her act together if she wanted to impress Philip and Greg and secure a job here after graduation. Shouldn't that have been the primary focus at this time in her life? It was, to a certain extent, and Lindsey was proud of herself for her drive and ambition. But ever since Sherlock came into her life, he was like a cloud hanging over her. He was a constant, persistent thought resting in the back of her head and she always seemed ready to venture in that direction. As she looked up at him from her paperwork, and saw the tall figure hunched over in his coat, his dark curls falling into his face, Lindsey experienced that same feeling she always did. The feeling seemed to warm every sensation in her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Her thoughts were immediately disrupted as soon as Sherlock and Greg emerged from the conference room. Sherlock appeared quite jovial and excited, like a toddler on Christmas day, as he bounced around and barked orders at various members of the police squad to get ready to go out on an assignment. However, Lindsey could not possibly put on a smile at that moment, not even for Sherlock. The assignment was, no doubt, the chemical factory, and that feeling of dread swiftly invaded her mind and tore her away from those pleasant feelings from a moment ago.

When Sherlock made it to her desk and saw her sitting there, his bright eyes widened and his mouth formed a breathtaking smile. "Hurry up, Lindsey! This case is most definitely an 8 now. Get ready so we can head down to the factory ASAP!"

"Hang on a minute, Sherlock," Greg interrupted as he strode over to Lindsey's cubicle. "This is not classified as an active investigation scene yet, so Philip and his team are not required to go there. In fact, I don't want them there until I'm sure that this area is safe."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Gary, it's not that dangerous."

The elder man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "My god, it's Greg! GREG! How many times do I have to remind you?"

"Greg, yes, all right, whatever…" Sherlock continued on as if nothing had happened. "Anyway, we'll have the whole team of trained policemen with us, so surely…"

"No, no, no," Greg said in exasperation. "I am not letting you take Lindsey along with us no matter what. Even if we have trained policemen with us, there's still a considerable risk. I am not bringing the new intern into an uncertain, risky situation without knowing all of the facts. Perhaps, when we know more about the area and are able to secure it, then we'll bring forensics."

Lindsey looked up at Sherlock with a sad smile, only to see a pout beginning to form on his features. However, he was still locking his eyes with Greg, as if staring long and hard enough would make Greg change his decision.

"But she's my partner!" Sherlock moaned.

"Wait…what?" Greg replied, turning to Lindsey with a confused look on his face.

"This is outside of work, Greg," Lindsey answered. "I promise."

"Oh…" he said. He momentarily seemed too stunned to say anything else, allowing Sherlock to interject once again.

"So, as my partner, she needs…"

"She said she was your partner outside of work hours, Sherlock," Greg reprimanded. "And if I'm not mistaken, she is _working_ right now. Which means that Philip and I have authority over what she can and cannot do. And right now, I'm saying that she cannot go to the factory with us. It's for her own protection."

Lindsey could feel her heart swell inside her chest at the adorable sight in front of her: Sherlock scrunching up his nose. Despite that momentary blissful moment, however, she immediately began to feel guilty once again. She knew that it wouldn't be safe for her to go to the factory; she wasn't even trained on how to properly use a gun after all. But the fact that Sherlock wanted her there was enough to make her feel guilty...and exhilarated at the exact same time. He wanted her to be there with him. Was this actually true or was her infatuated mind conjuring up this cruel dream? Even if he actually wanted her there, only out of utility, the thought that he might want something more didn't fail to cross her mind.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," she finally uttered, which caused him to turn his face in her direction.

Then, in a flash, he looked down and whispered, "It's fine."

"Please be safe," she whispered back. She realized that her words actually sounded choked up and she bit her lip as a result to stifle the sound.

"We will."

And with that, Sherlock, Greg, and a squad of armed policemen departed from the building, leaving a distraught Lindsey to wonder if she was actually going to see her flat mate at 221B tonight.


	20. Caring is Not an Advantage

**Decided to give you two in one day! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films. **

It was nearing eleven o'clock that night and there was absolutely no word from Sherlock. As Lindsey paced the living room at Baker Street, her mobile phone clutched in her hand, she debated back and forth in her head if she should actually ring him. He might still be at the factory, completely immersed in his deductions and mind palace and she would hate to be the one to take him away from that. But as the hours dwindled by, her resolve slowly but steadily weakened. She probably should have called Greg earlier in the day, but she was afraid of bothering him as well. And now, it was probably far too late and he was back home with his wife and family. But if Greg was home, then why wasn't Sherlock? Could something have happened to him? Anything could have happened, especially at an ominous place like that.

She began to ring her hands nervously and she realized with dread that her nervous, annoying habits were slowly making a comeback. Quickly, she pulled them back to her sides but only to realize that her fingers then began to scratch her trouser leg. Sighing in defeat, Lindsey plopped down in John's old armchair. She scrolled through her contacts until she reached Sherlock and her hand hovered over the call button just as the front door finally opened and in walked the man himself, shrugging off his coat and placing it on the hook on the back of the door.

"Sherlock!" Lindsey exclaimed and Sherlock jolted in surprise, his wide eyes filled with surprise.

"Lindsey?" Sherlock replied in a deep, husky voice. "Why are you up still? Don't you have to be at work at 8?"

"I was waiting for you!" she exclaimed with passion, seriously taken aback that he didn't or couldn't understand her reasoning. "You were gone so long…I was so worried about you! I thought something had happened to you!"

Sherlock stood there for a moment, his eyebrows, at first, furrowed in puzzlement. But as soon as she finished her little declaration, his entire face softened once again. It was a subtle change; it was as though he moved maybe three muscles in total, but it was still enough to convey a completely different message. Moreover, his entire body seemed to stiffen and his back straightened, as if he was trying to hold his resolve regarding something. Once again, Lindsey sincerely wished she could extract thoughts from that perplexing mind of his. He was such an enigma sometimes that even her impressive powers of empathic understanding couldn't figure it out.

Eventually, Sherlock crossed the room towards the laptop on his desk, sat down, and immediately began typing on it. Lindsey watched him, unable to form words out of her mouth. It was amazing how he could just seem to ignore that display of compassion and caring, act as though nothing had happened between them. That was when, for the first time in their relationship, Lindsey became angry. It was a strange feeling to be angry at Sherlock Holmes. It felt surreal, like she was displaced from her entire body.

"So you have absolutely nothing to say to that?" she cried out.

Sherlock continued typing and it took him a moment to answer. "No, not really."

"I can't believe you!" she exclaimed. "I just showed you how much I care about you and you don't even care!"

"You'll soon learn that caring is not an advantage, Miss Conrad," he stated simply.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that…take tonight for example. If something had happened to me…if I'd been taken hostage, been killed…"

"Oh God," Lindsey wailed, clasping a hand over her mouth.

"You're proving my point exactly. If that had happened, there would be nothing you could do about it. But you would sit here in the flat, crying because you care about me. What good is that going to do for either of us? I'd be dead or dying already and you would just make yourself sick. Emotions are the downfall of us all."

Tears formed in Lindsey's eyes. Not only was she angry at him, but now she was imagining the possibility of him being killed tonight and never making it back to Baker Street. Even though it was irrational to think about now, seeing that he was perfectly all right, but reality didn't diminish the anguish in her heart. He didn't understand. He couldn't fathom why she cared for him…so why on earth would he care for her?

"Dear God," Sherlock huffed in exasperation. "You do cry far too much. I mean, you cried earlier today, at work of all places. Isn't once enough? Honestly, there's nothing to…"

"Yes, there is," Lindsey gasped between sobs. "There are many things to cry over. I just can't explain it."

"Perhaps you need to see a doctor," he stated in a logical tone, finally looking up from the laptop screen. "Perhaps you suffer from a psychological illness you're not even aware of…"

Lindsey's heart collapsed to the pit of her stomach. Her breaths came out short and haggard, as if her lungs had decided to stop functioning properly. As soon as her hands began to tremble, Lindsey knew that a panic attack had consumed her completely. The one thing she'd dreaded would come back to haunt her had made its presence known and now, it was all happening in front of the person whose opinion mattered the most. As soon as she began to feel the pain in her chest, the all too familiar pain of anxiety and panic, she knew she was lost. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Lindsey dashed out the front door and up the stairs to her bedroom, locking the door behind her.


	21. I Love You, Sherlock Holmes

**Hi everyone! I hope all my American followers had a great Thanksgiving! Sorry for the delay. I was home for the Thanksgiving break and made sure to spend that time with my family. :) **

**BTW I saw both Benedict movies, "Pengwings (:P) of Madagascar" and "The Imitation Game!" I don't think Agent Classified was in "Pengwings" enough, but my GOD, Benedict was soooooo AMAZING in "The Imitation Game!" I can't get over how much he blew me away! I really really really hope he wins the Oscar because he so deserves it! He is the BEST ACTOR EVER! Seriously, everybody go see it if you can. I'm sad that it doesn't have a wider release, at least in the US, right now. **

**To be perfectly honest, I'm worried that I'm straying away from Sherlock's personality. It's so hard to write him! Please be honest in your reviews if you think he's becoming too OOC. The main part of the story is coming up and he will definitely be a bit OOC then because of the circumstances, but please give your honest opinion. :)**

**Thank you to the new follows and favorites!**

**New follows: Arianna Mitoko, GPlaia721, IsJustIs, KnuxGirl4Eva24, StarlightWolf15, Vangogh27, spiritofawatergoddess**

**New favorites: IsJustIs, KnuxGirl4Eva24, StarlightWolf15, unlogicalfangirl**

**And of course, my number 1 fan, Jade! I love you! Please update "Redbeard" soon!**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

Lindsey deliberately turned off her alarm clock, knowing that the late hour would only stress her out more. Instead, she acted like a vegetable on her bed, allowing the tears to cascade down her cheeks to soak her pillows and strings of her hair as they stuck to her face. She curled herself up in a ball around one of her body-length pillows, hoping that the comfort of something soft would ease the pain in her chest. But it didn't. Nothing ever did, as she learned over the years. A part of her wished that Midnight were here. Even though he wasn't the friendliest company, it was better than nothing.

She tried to sort through her scattered, disarrayed thoughts, but the emotional turmoil in her body and heart wouldn't allow it to be so easy. There were so many things floating through her broken mind, so many overwhelming emotions that she didn't want to try to figure out. But most of all, she felt shame; shame that she had allowed this to happen again after all the help she'd received from her family, friends, and doctors. She was supposed to be getting better. She had found a job that she loved. She was living in the best city in the world. What more could she ask for?

Of course, the horrible realization she had at that moment was that Sherlock had been the primary reason for the tension and anxiety to return. Perhaps, for her own sake and health, she should leave Baker Street to avoid another breakdown. After all, he only needed a partner and that position could be filled by anyone. He didn't need her, just someone capable of doing the job.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Lindsey?" Sherlock's voice floated into the room. "Lindsey, unlock the door. I need to speak with you."

Lindsey kept her mouth effectively shut, hoping that Sherlock would assume she was asleep. The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk to him about what had happened. How could she explain her emotional ailments to someone who was more emotionally detached than anyone she'd ever met? Then, with a soft scold, Lindsey reminded herself that Sherlock was human and did have emotions. But he was the kind of person to keep it locked away inside, so he still wouldn't understand the reason for her breakdown. Regardless, she didn't want to talk to him or to anybody. She hadn't even picked up the phone to dial her mum, who had always been the first person she'd confide in in the past.

"Lindsey, I know you're not asleep. I can hear you breathing and it's not the kind of breathing pattern attributed to sleep. Open the door."

When Lindsey failed to move from her spot on the bed, she then began to hear a rattling sound. Sitting up, she saw that the doorknob of her bedroom was vibrating. Rubbing a hand over her face, she realized with dread that Sherlock was trying to break in. And given his success in the past, he would most definitely be able to.

"Sherlock," Lindsey moaned as soon as he opened the door. "I don't want to talk right now."

"Well, I do," he stated simply, walking closer to her as she curled into a ball again on the bed. To her surprise, he sat down on the bed very close to her and she was shocked that he would allow such proximity to another person.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Sherlock whispered then, softly and gently, and Lindsey couldn't help but look up into his mesmerizing eyes.

Lindsey heaved a huge sigh. "I had a panic attack."

"Yes, I was able to deduce that."

"Of course you were."

"But what caused it?"

She looked away then as soon as she felt the tears prick at her eyes again. Wiping furiously at her eyes, she responded in a timid, choked-up whisper. "I don't know. Sometimes, they seem to come out of nowhere."

Even just sitting there, relaying all of these dark secrets to him, was enough to make her chest tighten again and her breathing come out ragged. Meanwhile, her fingernails from one hand began scratching onto the other palm; it was yet another bad habit that occurred during her attacks. Not only did it make her anxiety obvious to the entire world, but it continually and effectively damaged her skin.

"Maybe you do need a doctor," Sherlock suggested.

"I do have a doctor," Lindsey explained, closing her eyes in despair. "He's already aware of my condition."

"Condition?"

"Yes, Sherlock. I've been diagnosed with anxiety and depression. So to answer your question from before, yes, I do have a psychological illness."

Lindsey opened her eyes again to see that an array of emotions flashed across Sherlock's face then, and for some reason, she was only able to read one. He looked…lost…which completely and utterly confused her. Why would Sherlock be feeling lost? Isn't that what she was supposed to be experiencing right now, trying to break through to the surface in the aftermath of her attack? And yet, there it was, emerging from the multitude as clear as day.

"When? When were you diagnosed?"

"When I was an undergraduate student at Oxford. It was far worse back then than it is now. I thought I was finally getting over it. But now…now that I just had an attack…I don't know anymore…"

"And are you taking medication?"

Lindsey nodded.

That fleeting expression appeared on his handsome face again, the one where he looked lost, but it was also mixed with an expression of…dare she say it…guilt. Biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, Sherlock looked as though he desperately wanted to say something, but wasn't sure exactly how to phrase it. Or, more likely, he knew how to phrase, he was Sherlock Holmes after all, but he just couldn't make himself believe it. All the while, Lindsey sat there, with her legs pulled up to her chest and her chin resting on her knees, overanalyzing the emotional side of the situation once again.

"It must be me, then."

Lindsey raised her head curiously, watching as Sherlock looked down at her bed sheets, picking at the imaginary lint resting there. A few curls fell across his forehead as he did so, but he didn't seem to notice.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I must be the reason that your anxiety attacks came back," Sherlock mumbled, still refusing to look up.

"Oh, no, Sherlock," Lindsey moaned, suddenly feeling mortified that she had made him think that. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is," he said. "What other major change has occurred in your life recently?"

She smiled softly. "What about moving to London and starting a job at Scotland Yard? I would say those are two pretty big and stressful changes."

"True," Sherlock replied with a chuckle. "But you love your job and you love London. So it must be me. Process of elimination."

Lindsey sighed again, deciding that it would just be best to be honest with him. "Well…maybe a little…"

Sherlock nodded slightly. "You should leave then. Go back to your old flat and to your cat and to a place where you feel comfortable. Go back to where…I won't…bother you anymore."

That's when Lindsey wanted to die, right then and there. She watched as the reflection of her bedroom light bounced off Sherlock's eyes, revealing that they were glazed with unshed tears. Immediately, tears welled into her own eyes and she allowed them to fall this time, not even attempting to suppress them. Even as she tried to subdue her vocal expressions of sadness with her mouth, nothing seemed powerful enough to stop the oncoming surge of anguish. At the same time, however, the tension in her chest seemed to dissipate, as if her tears and heaving sobs loosened the suffocating bonds. But when she saw a single tear slide down Sherlock's cheek, her heart broke in two.

She had been right all along. He was not a heartless bastard as everyone seemed to think he was. Right here and now proved them all wrong. Sherlock was the kind of person to keep those emotions tucked away inside his mind, attempting to block their influence on his actions and judgments. But because they were hidden away, Lindsey believed that he actually felt more deeply than anyone else.

It was then that Lindsey decided to gently place her hand underneath Sherlock's chin, forcing his face upwards until their eyes locked with each other's. Then, with the other hand, she tenderly brushed his curls from his face. She looked in awe at the tear stain now present on his left cheek.

"I don't want to leave you," Lindsey whispered then.

"Why not? Most people would by now." He whispered back.

"Because I care about you," she answered with conviction. "I care about you so much and I know you've been feeling lonely ever since John left. Am I right?"

Sherlock nodded slowly. "That's why I asked you to be my partner and to stay with me at Baker Street."

Lindsey's eyes widened. "Really?"

He nodded again. "From the first day we met, I could tell that you were different from everyone else on the force. Most of them don't want to have anything to do with me. Some, like Donovan and Anderson, call me names. But you, Lindsey…" he paused for a second. "You immediately showed interest in my work and talent. And you praised me for it. There are not many people I know who do that."

"But all of London is in awe of your work, Sherlock!"

"They seem like they are, but they are just looking for an interesting news story," he sighed. "Or they want someone to clean up their messy situations. You didn't have any ulterior motive to be kind to me or praise me. But you did anyway."

"That's because I truly do admire your skills," Lindsey said. "I don't need an ulterior motive to want to show you that."

It was Sherlock's turn to smile, but his eyes still shined with water. "You should still leave, though. For your own sake."

"No," Lindsey stated with determination. "Even if I tried, I don't think my conscience would let me. I care about you too much that it makes my heart hurt sometimes. So I'm staying, no matter what happens. I don't want you to feel lonely ever again."

"But what about when you have to return back to school…" Sherlock uttered but Lindsey quickly placed a finger to his lips, causing him to widen his eyes.

"Shhh…let's not think about that right now, okay?"

He nodded slowly. And then, in a matter of seconds, all rational thought escaped Lindsey's mind and she did the unthinkable. Her hand moved from his lips to cup his cheek, and then she leaned in, closed her eyes, and pressed her lips gently to his. When she pulled away, she looked at him to see that his eyes were still closed. He finally opened them to reveal deep shock and confusion. Lindsey smiled at him, brushing her thumb tenderly across his cheek.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered.


	22. Thank You, Molly

**Hi everyone, I know it's been a while. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to continue posting. It seemed as though interest has been slowing down a bit and I was feeling depressed that no one was reading anymore. But I'll give it another try! Thank you to everyone who continues to give me support!**

**New follows: RaspberryRipple1, booklover7, nachobeats823**

**New favorites: RaspberryRipple1, SherlockFanFictionLover**

**New reviews: iamnobird - I'm so glad you are enjoying it! I hope you continue to! **

**JadeBuohler - Thank you again, lovely Jade! You are amazing! **

**Go read Jade's wonderful story _Redbeard_! :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

Lindsey found herself walking towards the local Sainsbury, with the intention that she was going to purchase some desperately needed groceries for the flat. But as she walked the few blocks to the store, she found that she could barely even concentrate on that. Her mind, of course, was fixated on the single event that occurred last night that shook her to her core. By some miracle, she'd actually had the courage to kiss Sherlock. It was still a confounding mystery as to where that courage had come from. Perhaps, it had just sprung up, not from a strange form of bravery, but from her innate compassion. She had desperately wanted to show Sherlock that someone did care for him and that was the only way she could think of doing it in that moment. At the same time, however, it was also a very selfish act on her part. Essentially, she had forced it upon him without asking, and that fact alone mortified her.

Once again, her thoughts were all jumbled inside her head, and Lindsey had to press her fingers to her forehead to stem the headache. So, instead, she decided to think about the kiss itself and the pain began to dissipate. The kiss had been incredibly short, but in Lindsey's warped mind, it seemed to last forever. Or perhaps, she desperately wanted it to last forever even as she knew that that could never happen. She had shared kisses with previous boyfriends in the past, but none of them had ever caused the butterflies in her stomach to flutter so intensely or her heart to beat so rapidly in her chest. When Lindsey had pulled away, it became very difficult to breathe as her eyes traced every feature of Sherlock's handsome face. Her yearning quickly became overwhelming and she was about to lean in again when Sherlock broke his gaze away and muttered.

"Well, I…umm…well you…you should…I…I'll just go…" and he leapt off the bed and strode from the bedroom, leaving Lindsey alone to try to contemplate what had just happened.

And she was still doing that now, nearly seventeen hours later after work the following day. Just as she was about to step through the doors of Sainsbury, Lindsey heard a distinctly familiar voice call out her name.

"Lindsey! Lindsey, hello!"

Lindsey turned to see the smiling, friendly face of Molly Hooper, her light brown ponytail swinging manically as she dashed up towards her. Despite her pounding headache and peculiar mood, Lindsey managed to return the smile warmly.

"Hi Molly, how are you?"

"I'm just fine, how are you?" Molly greeted.

"I'm okay," Lindsey said with a shrug. It wasn't entirely a lie.

"I was just on my way home when I spotted you," Molly explained. "Actually, would you like to grab some tea or coffee?"

Lindsey smiled again, a warm feeling spreading inside of her at the kind, friendly gesture. "Yes, that sounds lovely. Thank you."

Fortunately, since most cities seemed to have a Starbucks on every corner, it didn't take long for Lindsey and Molly to find one, order their beverages, and find a table inside.

"So how's the internship going?" Molly asked immediately as the conversation starter.

"Oh, it's wonderful," Lindsey gushed. "I love it. I find it to be so fascinating, mostly because no day is ever the same as the last. There's always something new going on; new cases that crop up. I'm learning so much and having a blast that I sort of dread going back to school."

Molly laughed a sweet giggle at that. "Yes, I understand that feeling. I've always enjoyed work far more than school."

"Finally, someone agrees with me," Lindsey replied with a giggle as well.

"Well, it's because work is more hands on, while school is all about studying theoretical ideas from a textbook. I don't know. Personally, I find it easier to learn, understand, and remember things when I'm actually doing them."

"I agree completely." Lindsey said.

"But you only have, what, a year left at Oxford?" Molly inquired then, just before she took a sip of her coffee.

"Yes," Lindsey nodded. "In many ways, it's a relief. But it's also depressing because it's the end of an era. That will be the last time I'll ever be in school again. It's just sort of bittersweet, you know?"

Molly's face morphed into one of pity. "That's true. But won't most of your friends still be in England? Maybe even in London? They won't be too far away."

"I am very grateful for that," Lindsey said.

"I can't really imagine working at Scotland Yard," Molly admitted then. "Especially with Sherlock always being around."

Lindsey perked up at that comment, wondering where Molly was going with this. "What do you mean? Doesn't he come by Bart's sometimes?"

"Sometimes, but not that often," Molly explained. "Maybe once a week? But I'm sure he's at the Yard every other day at least."

"Yes, I would say that's true. Sometimes every day if the case is pressing."

"See, that would drive me up the wall."

"How so?"

It was then that Molly stopped here, looking down intently into her coffee cup and suddenly becoming intrigued by the swirling cream inside. Immediately, Lindsey began to feel the tension creeping up on her, as she fretted that she'd asked the wrong question. She began to grip on her own cup, momentarily forgetting that it was made of flimsy paper material. When the coffee began to spill over the top, she gasped out in surprise.

"Oh I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, grabbing a handful of napkins in order to mop it up.

"Don't worry, Lindsey!" Molly assured her. "Accidents happen."

"And I'm sorry too…about my question," Lindsey continued on in a stuttering voice. "I mean…I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No! No, it's perfectly fine," Molly answered quickly. "It wasn't your question. It's just…well…I'm just…a bit embarrassed."

"You don't have to feel embarrassed," Lindsey said gently. "But you don't have to tell me either if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine," Molly said with a smile. "You probably understand how I feel."

"Yeah, I probably do. Women have to stick together after all."

"Yeah, they do. Especially when probably both of us have a major crush on the same man."

Lindsey burst out giggling, immediately causing Molly to start giggling too. Another wave of warmth spread throughout Lindsey's body from her fingers to her toes. "I'm assuming you're talking about Sherlock."

"Yes."

"But how did you know I have a crush on him?"

"What woman wouldn't?"

"That's true," Lindsey said, grinning from ear to ear, just as an embarrassing flush of pink spread across her cheeks.

All of a sudden, however, the hand of anxiety clutched at Lindsey's heart again, making her chest experience that same, sharp uncomfortable pain. Biting her lip, Lindsey realized that she hadn't told Molly about her partnership or living situation with Sherlock. In fact, she hadn't told anyone, not even her parents yet, even though it had only been a few days. But for some reason, Lindsey felt as though sweet Molly deserved to know, especially because she had been such close friends with Sherlock for so long and had been pining over him even longer.

And yet, Lindsey wanted to be friends with Molly. Already, this conversation proved that they seemed to get along really well with each other. Unlike with many other people, Lindsey and Molly had found a plane of familiarity between them, making conversation flow easily and without those dreaded pauses. Divulging to Molly her interesting situation with Sherlock might make her jealous or bitter towards Lindsey, even if she was sweet by nature. So, in fear, Lindsey kept her mouth closed about the subject.

Instead, another subject came to mind. "Well, we both know Sherlock is off limits to pretty much every woman on the face of the planet. So, is there anyone else special in your life, Molly?"

It was Molly's turn to blush. "Well, actually…yes there is."

"Oh really? That's wonderful!" Lindsey exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Who is it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"No, I don't mind," Molly replied with a smile. "His name is Tom. He is such a sweet, down-to-earth kind of guy. We actually were engaged a few months ago, but we had a falling-out. We recently got back together and sorted everything out, so it seems to be going on strong now."

"I'm so glad to hear that," Lindsey said with sincerity. "He sounds like a wonderful man. I'd love to meet him one day."

"Well, if we get engaged again, then you'll definitely meet him at the wedding!"

"Oh, am I invited to it?"

"Of course you are!" Molly said with a wide smile. "We're friends, aren't we?"

And Lindsey's smile was just as wide. To hear those words from Molly's lips was such a relief and eased the tension from her heart that, sadly, seemed to come so easily these days. And now that Molly had told her about her impending engagement, Lindsey didn't feel so guilty about her living arrangements with Sherlock. Sure, Molly probably still had a crush on Sherlock and Lindsey was technically living with him, but at least Molly was going to find blissful, domestic happiness with Tom. That was more than Lindsey could ever hope for with her flat mate.

"Thank you, Molly. That means the world to me."

**Thought there should be some girl talk...regarding a certain detective. :P I also included that conversation about work vs school because it's something that a lot of people are going through...myself included since I'll be graduating in a matter of days and getting a job soon! Growing up is hard. **

**Until next time! Please leave a review! Sherlock will be back in the next chapter, cuz I know you all missed him. :P**


	23. What You Love to Do

**Thank you again for your continued support! Here's some nice fluff. :) The angsty stuff is going to come in about 3 chapters. **

**New favorites: UncreditedWriter**

**New reviews: The lovely Jade! You really don't have to continue commenting, since you've read the whole thing. But you are so amazing! Thank you so much! :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

"Lindsey, is that you?" Sherlock's voice echoed down the stairs from the flat on the second floor. Lindsey was currently lugging up the bags of groceries up those stairs, trying to suppress her annoyance at the fact that Sherlock was not bothering to come and assist her.

"Yes, Sherlock, it's me. Would you mind helping me?" Lindsey called back.

"Sorry, can't. In the middle of a critical experiment. I'm sure you can handle it."

Lindsey groaned, but actually did manage to get the several pound bags up to the second landing and through the open front door. She literally had to drag the bags towards the refrigerator, passing by Sherlock who was currently performing some strange experiment on the kitchen table. There were dozens of beakers, test tubes, and containers with colored liquids, a Bunsen burner, a microscope, and, to Lindsey's surprise, about twenty human eyeballs scattered across the tabletop. Sherlock was currently wearing a pair of goggles and holding up one of the eyeballs to the Bunsen burner flame with some tongs.

Lindsey nearly dropped the bananas she was holding in her hands. "Sherlock! What on earth are you doing?"

Sherlock didn't look up. His eyes were fixated on the other eyeball. "I told you. I'm performing an experiment."

"But with human eyeballs?" she cried out.

"Yes, obviously," he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And probably, at least at 221B, it was a very normal thing.

Lindsey ran a nervous hand through her hair. "But, in a kitchen? Where food is prepared? That can't be sanitary!"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "It's perfectly fine. I do this all the time, and John had no problem preparing food in here."

"I'm not sure you can say he had no problem with it," Lindsey said with a small laugh.

"Well, yes, that's true. He did complain quite a lot now that you bring that up."

"Yes, I'm sure he did," Lindsey said with a smile, shaking her head in feigned disapproval. She decided it wasn't worth an argument over, so she simply continued filling the fridge with the food and tried her best to ignore the other human body parts filling the different components. It was a very lucky thing that Lindsey wasn't all that squeamish; that she was used to seeing human body parts at a crime scene, as gruesome as that might sound, from pictures in her textbooks. But for some reason, body parts in the fridge was something so distinctly Sherlock that it made her smile. Anything at all that reminded her of her dear Sherlock would make her smile.

There were a few seconds of silence between them, but it didn't last long because Lindsey saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Sherlock was looking straight at her. As soon as she noticed this, Lindsey turned around towards him.

"What?" she asked.

"How come you aren't complaining?" he asked her, genuinely sounding intrigued and surprised. With a sigh of relief, Lindsey noticed that he had turned off the Bunsen burner since he was no longer focused on the task at hand. One of her fears was that Sherlock would be so focused on his thoughts that he would neglect something as simple as turning off a source of fire. She didn't even want to think about the consequences of that.

Lindsey smiled at him gently. "Why should I complain?"

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows adorably at her, making her heart swell with adoration. "Because, as you just said, it might not be sanitary?"

"And you just said it was perfectly fine," she pointed out.

"And you believed me?"

"Yes, why shouldn't I? Are you hiding something from me?" she said in a teasing voice.

"No, no…" Sherlock said, his voice trailing off somewhat. "It's just…I don't know…I thought you would scold me more for it."

"This is your flat, Sherlock," Lindsey reminded him. "And this is what you love to do. So what right do I have to stop you from doing it?"

Lindsey deliberately turned away from him, but not before she caught his mouth opening slightly in surprise. He seemed prepared to say something in return, but the actual words failed to come out of his lips. Looking down into the shopping bag and retrieving more items, Lindsey couldn't help but feel satisfied with herself that she had once again stumped him. But then again, Sherlock was probably surprised because John had, in fact, complained quite a bit. And in a way, that made Lindsey sad all over again because Sherlock was being reprimanded for something that he loved to do. She wanted to be the very last person stopping him from what he loved.

She heard him cough behind her. "Well, yes very good. I'll just…ummm…well I guess I'll just keep working then."

"Okay and I'll make us some dinner," Lindsey answered.

But as she began to pull out supplies in preparation for dinner, she heard Sherlock speak up once again. "But you're wrong about something."

Lindsey turned curiously. "What am I wrong about?"

"It isn't just _my _flat," he mumbled, sitting back down again to glance through his microscope at a mysterious slide. "Do you forget that you live here too?"

Lindsey didn't know how to reply to that, so she simply turned back around as an enormous smile spread across her face. In more ways than one, Sherlock really was a sweetheart even though he showed it in an arrogant and roundabout way. Still, his demeanor didn't diminish the impact that his statement had made. It seemed that, unless she was hopelessly mistaken, Sherlock really did want her to stay here. With a sinking feeling, she knew that these three months of summer break would fly by in a flash and Oxford would feel strangely less welcoming. Still, it was only a year and she would most likely return to London to live in the city permanently once she graduated. Then again, a year was enough time for Sherlock to forget about her and find a new partner to replace her. Depression overwhelmed her once again and she marveled at the way her emotions oscillated so frequently and unexpectedly.

The whole time that she prepared dinner, Lindsey couldn't help but look off to the side at Sherlock. His activities were quite subdued, but she was astonished at how graceful he could be and how handsome he looked even in a stained dressing gown, goggles atop his head, and messy curls that seemed to go everywhere. Then again, Lindsey reminded herself, Sherlock was always handsome. And she was deeply in love with him.

Her thoughts then wandered towards the kiss once again, and she pondered whether she should actually bring it up. It hurt somewhat that Sherlock seemed hesitant to bring it up, but was that really a surprise? Even if he had enjoyed it, which was a stretch in itself, he would attempt to be unfazed and move along in his work. Or perhaps, even though it was more unlikely, he was actually shy about bringing it up. Either way, Lindsey was dying to mention it, but feared that she would embarrass him. And that was the last thing she wanted to do. Kissing someone and admitting to them that one loved them was, in most people's minds, a big deal and perhaps it was to Sherlock as well.


	24. Did I Miss Something?

**Hi everyone! Hope you continue to enjoy! And thank you to:**

**New follows: CloveTonksHatter, IheartStewart20, Lift the Wings, Marisol Akyri, Nemix, zodiacgurl17**

**New favorites: CloveTonksHatter, yellowroseofthenw**

**New reviews: Jade! - Thank you again! I hope you're not sad that you don't get the suspense anymore. But hopefully you will again when I add more to what I already gave you!**

**Mishaspoptart - Wow, thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy. I'm excited about the stuff to come. I love your username, btw. :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

The next morning was Saturday, so Lindsey decided to sleep in a bit later than normal. Still, it was only eight o'clock when she entered the living room to find Sherlock sitting in his armchair and staring intently at his phone. He almost seemed transfixed and mesmerized by it, his eyebrow furrowed and his eyes vibrating back and forth at the speed of light as he seemed to read something. That talent truly astonished her and she made a point to ask him about it some other time. But for now, Lindsey sensed something was wrong and it was now the time to ask Sherlock if he was all right.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay?"

Sherlock didn't respond right away. Lindsey attributed this to his mind palace, since whenever he was locked away inside of it, he never seemed to answer her questions right away or even be aware that they were in the same room together. But as the moments passed away in silence and Sherlock gripped his phone tighter and tighter in his hand, Lindsey began to fret more and more. She could sense the tension in his entire body and Sherlock Holmes was never supposed to be tense. If he, of all people, was feeling tense, then something was clearly amiss. Once again, her chest began to tighten and her heart beat rapidly, causing the familiar shortness of breath to follow shortly afterwards.

"Sherlock?" her voice almost sounded as though she were begging now, pleading with him to tell her what was wrong.

Sherlock's head bolted upright, startled that she was standing right in front of him. Her earlier supposition about his mind palace had been correct after all, and he was slowly emerging from its depths. His eyes widened slightly as he alternated between looking at his phone and Lindsey.

"Is everything okay?" she asked sweetly.

Sherlock coughed the sort of cough when one felt awkward. "Yes, of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Did something happen? Why are you staring at your phone like that?"

"Oh, it's just Mycroft sending me an annoying email. Asking me to look into something that sounds so incredibly dull," he said with a scoff.

Lindsey chuckled, her anxiety wavering slightly. "Maybe he is trying to help you find work so that you will be able to pay the rent."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Then why doesn't he just pay it himself? It would make both of our lives a lot easier."

Lindsey smiled as she began to rummage around in the kitchen for something to eat for breakfast. At the same time, however, she wasn't so entirely convinced that Sherlock was responding completely honestly with her. She had seen, as clear as day, that he was tense even if he didn't want to admit it. At the same time, however, she knew that if she pressed the subject further, he would only get annoyed and she wanted to avoid a disagreement like that. Perhaps, Sherlock was tense about something completely unrelated to the email he was talking about; maybe he was worried about the success of an experiment he was performing at Bart's. Lindsey decided that, if Sherlock appeared to be feeling the same way later that night, after she had come back from time with her friends, she would prod him about it again.

"By the way, Sherlock, I forgot to mention to you earlier. I'm going out tonight with a few friends. Is that all right with you? Do you need me for anything tonight?"

Sherlock shook his head. "That's fine. There's something I need to get done tonight that I have to do on my own."

Lindsey looked up curiously from her breaded toast. "Oh really? What is it?"

"Sorry, it's sorta top secret. Unfortunately, my brother did manage to rope me in on some sensitive government work beforehand and I'm trying to get it over with as quickly as possible."

"Oh I see. So that's why I can't assist you? Because it's top secret?"

"Exactly," Sherlock replied with a curt nod.

"How come you don't like top secret government work? It sounds like you're a secret agent! Like James Bond!"

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrow. "Who?"

"What?" Lindsey exclaimed, though her face betrayed her playful mood. "You seriously don't know who James Bond is?"

"I might have known who he was before, but if that information is not critical to my work, then I simply delete it."

"Delete it?"

"Yes," he replied. "There's only so much space in my mind, so it's only worth my time and effort to put things in there that are useful."

"Like the varying strengths of different natural fibers?" Lindsey said with a gentle, yet teasing voice.

Sherlock scrunched up his nose and this made Lindsey laugh gleefully. "That sort of information is useful for some of my deductions, yes."

"Then how do you know James Bond won't come up and prove useful to you?"

"I'm pretty sure he won't."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Absolutely sure."

"But what if…"

"Are you honestly going to beat this subject to death?"

Lindsey giggled once again as she brought her toast over to the kitchen table, which was currently scattered once again with chemistry test tubes and beakers. All of a sudden, an unexpected urge overwhelmed Lindsey and her desire to know Sherlock's feelings about their kiss became all-consuming. Sherlock was back on his phone once again, effectively ending their previous conversation. He was probably back in his mind palace, and trying to get him out of it again would be quite an effort. Still, she was becoming desperate to know if he felt something during their brief, intimate interaction.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you…umm…well…I…do you…" Lindsey stuttered, her once-organized thoughts collapsing into disarray as she continued to speak and her heart preparing itself for disappointment.

"Lindsey, don't stutter. It is very distracting," Sherlock said, somewhat coldly.

"I'm sorry," Lindsey answered, just as her confidence began to wane dangerously. She still had time to get herself out of the awkward situation. All she had to do was mention a completely different topic and ask a completely different question. But did she really want to?

"Sherlock, do you remember what happened a couple of days ago?" she asked gently.

"A couple of days ago…" Sherlock mulled over the question for a few minutes. "Well, I performed some experiments on human eyeballs."

Lindsey smiled. "Yes, I remember that very well."

"And you had a sort of a panic attack," he continued, his steepled hands finding their way under his chin in a customary Sherlock pose. Lindsey nodded in response, mesmerized once again by his ability to vibrate his eyes back and forth so quickly. As she nodded, she also waited with baited breath to see if the event of the panic attack would trigger his brain into remembering the significant event that had come shortly after that. But then again, Sherlock had just revealed to her that he deleted information from his hard drive if it didn't prove useful to his work. Their kiss certainly had no bearing on his detective work, so with a sinking feeling, Lindsey seemed to know already that it had not lingered in his mind. It wasn't important enough to him to bother remembering. Should she even attempt to further the conversation in that direction then? Or was it a fruitless endeavor?

With a sinking, sickening feeling in her stomach, she heard Sherlock utter, "I can't think of anything else. Did I miss something?"

Yes, you missed something enormous, she thought with despair. Her hopes were shattered into tiny pieces instantly, and she could feel the tears brimming in her eyes. But Lindsey was determined not to cry, for her mother always said that no boy was worth crying over. She was strong and independent; she didn't need anyone. She could be her own person all by herself.

But the impressive speech inside her head wasn't enough to erase the pain in her heart. Lindsey was certain that the sting of rejection would heal with time; it always did. But right now, it was all-consuming and threatened to drive her towards a deep, endless, and dark hole.

"I've missed something, haven't I?" Sherlock said, breaking Lindsey away from her thoughts.

Her response came out as a choked-up whisper. "Yes, you did."

"What is it then?"

"Our…" Lindsey began slowly. "…kiss…"

"Ahh," Sherlock responded, further aggravating Lindsey's nerves. "What about it?"

Lindsey gulped with dread. "Did you feel…anything?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

At this point, Lindsey had to bite her lip, fearing that the tears would suddenly come when she had her guard down. But they were pushing against the barriers she was erecting, becoming stronger and more powerful with each passing minute and with each word that Sherlock uttered. She was reminded of the time when Sherlock had insulted her in front of St. Bart's. She had to state a sort of mantra over and over again in her head: _Don't let yourself get hurt. Don't let yourself get hurt._ This was, again, floating around in her head, but it seemed to be far less effective this time. She was going to get hurt; it was inevitable. And her lovesick heart wouldn't be able to take it.

"I felt your lips upon mine," Sherlock said, his voice inflected with a professional and scientific attitude about it. "Perhaps also…"

"No," Lindsey said, effectively silencing Sherlock's scientific analysis of their special moment together. "No, I mean…did you feel any…emotion?"

A deathly silence followed for several minutes afterwards. When Lindsey closed her eyes once again, tears spilled from her eyes down her cheeks. At this point, she no longer cared if Sherlock saw. Why should she care anymore? She didn't want to care anymore. He isn't worth the tears, her mother would tell her. No one is worth the tears, not even Sherlock Holmes, the man she was in love with. But water continued to stream down her face, effectively smearing her makeup and drenching her cheeks. She'd never felt such pain in her heart ever before. At this moment in time, she didn't think the sting of rejection would ever fade away. Time wouldn't be there to help her. Time wouldn't heal all wounds.

"Do you have any feelings…at all…for me?" Lindsey gasped out in a final desperate attempt, but she knew the answer she desperately wanted to hear would not come from his lips.

Her question was met with another impenetrable silence. She looked up to see Sherlock, his entire face expressionless and his eyes wide with wonder. He sat there motionless; his entire body was rigid as if he didn't know what to do with himself. He did try to open his mouth slightly, as if hoping words would magically come out of it to deal with the difficult situation he was forced to face, but nothing more than a wisp of air escaped. Once again, Lindsey noticed that tension was returning to his body and his hand gripped the armrest of his chair tightly.

While Sherlock didn't seem to know what to do, Lindsey knew exactly what to do. Leaving her breakfast behind, she stood up, grabbed her coat from the hook, and escaped the suffocating confines of Baker Street, freeing herself from the intense sorrow and despair she now associated with Sherlock Holmes.

**Uh oh! More problems! I hope you're not annoyed by Lindsey being so emotional. I thought it would be interesting to pair Sherlock, who keeps his emotions in check, with someone who is incredibly emotional. Also, I write Lindsey that way because I, myself, have to deal with anxiety and depression and I tend to over-think situations just like her. So I understand what it's like to go through that. **

**Hope you enjoyed! Please review! **


	25. Other Fish in the Sea

**Hi everyone! So just to let you all know, I'm not going to be able to update again until Sunday, Dec 21 or Monday, Dec 22. Sorry about that! Also, let me know if you have a Twitter account. I'd love to follow you! Mine is truelondoner123. **

**Thank you again to:**

**New follows: Like Ice**

**New favorites: BowtiesImpalasandSociopaths**

**New reviews: Jade! Wow thank you so much! That comment means so much to me! Your work is so inspiring too! **

**Mishaspoptart - Thank you! :)**

**Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ is owned by the BBC and Hartswood Films.**

"Lindsey! What happened? Are you okay?"

The soft, comforting voice of her dear friend, Anna, filled her eardrums and calmed her palpitating heart. With tears streaming down her face, Lindsey had boarded the Underground from Baker Street to Knightsbridge, where she knew her best friend lived. It was out of desperation and despair and she hadn't really processed the implication of her unexpected arrival. But deep down, Lindsey knew that Anna would understand. The two of them had met when they were undergraduate students; that meant that Anna had been there when Lindsey was knee-deep in her depression. Despite all of the panic attacks and seemingly endless crying, Anna had always been there for her. She honestly was the best friend Lindsey could ever ask for.

At the same time, however, Lindsey felt immensely guilty for taking advantage of Anna's kindness and patience with her. She honestly thought things were getting better and that Anna wouldn't have to put up with her condition much longer. But this was a relapse, and Lindsey didn't know where else to turn. She couldn't bear to be at Baker Street a second longer, not when the one man who brought her both immense joy and sorrow would be there. It was then that she realized she had neglected to actually tell Anna about Sherlock.

"You poor thing," Anna said in a motherly tone. "Come inside and tell me what happened."

Lindsey offered a smile of gratitude before stepping over the threshold into Anna's flat. She lived on her own, so it was quite small, but Lindsey adored it because of Anna's impeccable sense of decoration. Every wall was decorated with a poster of Anna's favorite movies, TV shows, or actors, and her furniture all matched each other with a light shade of blue. The wallpaper that adorned every inch of the walls was also a light shade of blue. And there, curled up in the corner in his bed, was her dear cat Midnight.

"Oh, Midnight," Lindsey gushed, strolling over to her cat and picking him up to hold against her. Fortunately, Midnight was a fairly friendly cat and didn't seem to mind being snuggled crushingly close to his owner. As a way to calm herself down, she snuggled her face into the white fur.

"So what's wrong, Lindsey?" Anna began to prod for details. "What happened?"

The mere thought of having to remind herself about Sherlock caused the tears to flow once more. Lindsey didn't even want to imagine how horrible she looked at the moment; her eyes must have been bloodshot and puffy, her hair in disarray, her cheeks flushed and wet, her makeup smeared in every possible location on her face. And yet, a part of her didn't seem to care, which was a miracle in itself. As she plopped herself down on Anna's couch, she pulled her messy hair back into a ponytail and wiped her cheeks furiously to rid it of the tear stains. Then she began her customary breathing exercises her doctor had recommended for when she was feeling anxious. _In and out, in and out. _It took her a moment to calm herself before she was able to speak.

"There's something I haven't told you, Anna," Lindsey began slowly. "And I'm really surprised that I've neglected to. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize for that, Lindsey!" Anna said in a kind voice. "You have been busy with your internship! I don't blame you for not being able to tell me anything. You tell me when you can and when you need to."

"Thank you so much," Lindsey gushed. "And right now, I really really need to."

"Go on," Anna said gently.

"Well, I…I actually moved out of my flat."

"You did? Why? Where did you move to?"

"It's a really long story," Lindsey said. "But while at Scotland Yard, I was able to meet and work with Sherlock Holmes, himself."

"Oh my God," Anna gasped, her face contorting to one of pure shock and delight. "Sherlock Holmes? You lucky girl!"

"Yes, well I thought so at first," Lindsey said, her voice laced with deep sadness. She watched as Anna's brow furrowed in concern as she heard the tone of Lindsey's voice. "I mean, it's amazing to watch him work and even more amazing to work with him. A few weeks ago, he asked me to be his partner and I agreed. Then he asked me to come live with him, so that it would be easier for us to correspond with each other."

"Wow, that's amazing! _You_ living with Sherlock Holmes! Every girl in London would kill to be in your shoes!"

"I guess…"

"Are you bloody joking? Sherlock Holmes is _gorgeous_. You and I both have a severe crush on him, don't we?" Anna asked in a stunned voice, her eyes wide and wondering. While Anna's body began to tremble with exhilaration, at being told that her best friend was living with the most handsome man in all of London, Lindsey's body trembled with anxiety. She knew that Anna was genuinely excited, but she felt a bit betrayed that Anna seemed more preoccupied with Sherlock than with her friend's predicament.

"Yes, yes…" Lindsey replied, her voice somewhat betraying her exasperation and annoyance.

"Then what's the problem?"

"It's just that…I…" Lindsey paused for a moment, contemplating how exactly to phrase her next thought. Once again, her thoughts were all jumbled up inside her head and it was taking a great deal of effort to organize them once again. "You'll probably think I'm ridiculous…but I…fell in love with him."

Anna laughed. "I don't find that ridiculous at all."

"No, Anna, I mean, I really and truly did fall in love with him."

"Wouldn't we all?" Anna replied with a wide, silly grin.

"And he…he rejected me."

"You told him? You actually told him?" Anna exclaimed, that grin slowly becoming an open mouth to express her complete and utter shock.

"Yes, and I kissed him."

"Oh my God, you kissed him? How was it? Oh my God, I'm so jealous right now."

Tears started to well up in Lindsey's eyes again. "Anna, please," she begged.

"Oh right, I'm sorry, Lindsey," Anna said, her voice laced with pity and her expression changing from unbelievable awe to compassion. Anna seemed to get the hint right away, knowing that she had dwelled too much on the man and not enough on her best friend. Her own infatuation with Sherlock was getting in the way of comforting Lindsey. "I'm so so sorry he rejected you. But really, Lindsey, did you expect him to fall in love with you? He wouldn't fall in love with anybody, no matter who was his partner."

"I know, I just t-thought…you know…he might feel s-something for me." Lindsey continued to stutter and cringe at how utterly pathetic she sounded. Then again, it was Anna and Anna had been through the worst.

"He might see you as a friend. That's something, isn't it?" she suggested hopefully.

"Yeah I guess."

"You can't really expect more from Sherlock than that. He's asexual, or at least that's what people say."

"I really don't think he's asexual at all," Lindsey countered. Once again, she found herself defending Sherlock against those who saw him as some kind of machine. She hated the fact that people did that without a single thought as to how Sherlock would feel about that. Perhaps, he secretly wanted people to perceive him that way. That was a real and true possibility. But, really, who would want that? If one was seen in that light, then no one would want to be around them. And no one wants to be alone…do they?

"I think he could possess romantic feelings," Lindsey continued. "He just chooses to hide it from the world."

"How do you know that?"

"I have the sixth sense, remember?"

"Even with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, maybe not."

"Look on the bright side, Lindsey," Anna continued in that comforting voice Lindsey was very familiar with. "No one will ever win him over. You're part of the thousands of other London girls who would love to be Sherlock's girlfriend. But no one ever will be and you got the closest you can get to being it!"

"Yes, that's very true."

"There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Sherlock's just one of them who doesn't deserve your love if he can't freely give it back. You need to find a man who will love you unconditionally. "

"Thanks, Anna," Lindsey said with a small smile. "You always know exactly what to say, from the very beginning until now."

"You're my best friend, Lindsey. I'll do anything for you," Anna said, sincerity dripping from every word as she returned the smile.

Lindsey did feel a lot better. This would often happen at university. Lindsey would work herself up until she was an anxious mess and everything would seem impossible to handle. Everything would seem awful, even a harmless homework assignment. Sometimes, she would be able to pull herself out of it, reminding herself that everything was all right and things were not as bad as she might have perceived them. However, there were also those times when she needed a second person there to tell her those things when she couldn't tell herself. Anna had always been the one to do that. She was the one to pull Lindsey back from the edge of darkness and despair and bring with her that light at the end of the tunnel. Either Anna would find some way to distract Lindsey, by getting her to watch her favorite TV show or go shopping, or Anna would simply embrace Lindsey and whisper words of comfort. All in all, Lindsey owed everything to Anna, and she hoped one day she would be able to repay her.

"All right!" Anna said, clapping her hands together with excitement. "Weren't we supposed to meet some gals at Oxford Circus to forget about our worries and troubles and do some shopping?"

Lindsey's eyes brightened immediately. "Yes! Let's go!"


End file.
